


Mind Game

by LostOzian



Series: The Blood-Stained Knight of Beforus [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Beforus, Beforus Ancestors, Could Be Canon, Dreambubbles, Ghosts, Healthy Relationships, Meteorstuck, Military Intrigue, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Intrigue, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 76
Words: 261,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostOzian/pseuds/LostOzian
Summary: Karkat reaches out to a forsaken friend while the rest of the crew struggles to solve, once and for all, their personal crises and the mysteries of ancient Beforus.





	1. Waiting for War

**Author's Note:**

> Within the darkness, what do you seek  
> What do you pursue, and what are you trying to gain?  
> The moment you've begun to embrace a faint hope  
> You'll find the answer to that.  
> Yes. That's the feeling I got.
> 
> \- Mind Game, by Tamaki

Even with the concept of time under extreme duress by the fabric of the Outer Ring, as far as sentient beings were concerned, it still passed. And by all estimates, they had around another year to get to the new session. Which meant everyone on the meteor was fifteen years old, or as the trolls insisted, seven sweeps.

Dave wasn’t sure if he felt fifteen. He supposed if he had gone to high school like some sort of average teenager he’d know more about what fifteen was supposed to feel like. More than feeling his age, he felt bored. The adventures of Beforus had been entertaining. Actually, entertaining was the wrong word. It had given him something to think about apart from gray walls and the looming battle where a ton of his friends and also he might die. Unfortunately, Vriska did not agree that the team needed a distraction, and seemed to have gotten it into her head that there would be a war waiting for them when they arrived at the new session. Everyone should be either in research or in training.

So the Knight of Time did a single push-up and then quit.

Instead of workouts, in this moment, he’d rather be chilling with Karkat, but his nubby bro was nowhere to be found. That meant Dave had to wander the meteor in search of him. He checked common lounges and hallways and stairwells and one of the outer decks. Nothing.

He eventually struck on some kind of library, and while he didn’t find Karkat, he found other people who he could ask. Specifically, Terezi and Kanaya.

“Hey,” he greeted them.

“Sup!” Terezi answered with a shark-tooth grin.

“Anyone seen Karkat around?”

“No, why?”

“We were gonna do a thing, but he’s not around and not answering my messages on any one of the probably ten thousand computers lying around that they would show up on,” Dave summarized.

“A thing?” One of Terezi’s eyebrows popped up.

“Yes, a thing.” Dave really didn’t have more concrete plans than that. He had invited Karkat to watch more movies with him, or hang around Can Town, or alchemize junk food for fun if not profit, or draw faces on the tubes full of genetically engineered carapacian abominations, but without an answer from his fellow Knight, Dave had no idea what they were actually going to do.

Terezi seemed to jump to conclusions about what that ‘thing’ might be, and now her eyebrows were going crazy. “I see…”

“Shut up,” he told her, turning to Kanaya. “What about you, have you seen him?”

“No,” Kanaya said. “Have you seen Gamzee?”

“Are you serious? Of course not, I haven’t seen that guy at all since the first day we got here. Not once.”

“Yeah,” Kanaya said, a little more quietly. “I know.”

“I’m pretty sure only Vriska’s seen him, since I think she has a personal vendetta against letting him see the light of whatever’s flowing through those tubes there, like radioactive carapacian industrial fluorescence or something. I think he’s really intent on hiding, but maybe you could let Vriska know you’re itching to get in on juggalo patrol?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Kanaya seemed unsatisfied with that answer, looking down at the table.

“Terezi, what’s your view on this? Do you think Vriska has the murder clown under control?”

“Her strategy has kept him off our posture columns for a sweep already, so I don’t think there’s much else for us to do besides keep a nose out for grape-scented scheming,” Terezi said.

“Got it,” Dave said. “So what are you up to in here?”

“Research," Terezi answered. “Since Vriska found that crucial tip about the additional enemies that will be waiting for us in the new session, it became pretty obvious that we need to know more about what’s going on there. Plus, as sturdy as these books are for construction purposes, they might have a better use than being shuttled off to Can Town to build new skyscrapers.”

“But if Can Town doesn’t get fresh shipments of books, what’s going to be left? Cans are really pretty limiting when you think about it.”

“Of course we’re going to keep using books! But we’ll use them _after_ we’ve read them.” Terezi raised her eyebrows at Dave, playful.

“Do you mean read, or glazed them with slobber?”

“I am here to prevent excessive salivation on the more important volumes,” Kanaya said. “If there’s anything Terezi is unable to discern through scent alone, I read it aloud to her.”

“Great, so what have you guys learned from licky-sticky read-along time?” Dave sat down on the other side of the table, kicking up his feet on another chair.

And thus, Dave brought upon himself an incredibly long-winded explanation of all sorts of concepts: null and void sessions, combining a mature battlefield with a blank, Reckoning-free slate, villains who may be helping their side for their own reasons, the possible salvation of Earth, Skaia’s omniscient passivity, altered temporal destinations for meteor ecto-wiggle-babies, and the genetic makeup of the new players. The reality had been hanging over his head for quite some time, but willful ignorance had kept him from acknowledging it. But, like she always had since Dave met her, Terezi did not allow him to push it aside any longer.

“Isn’t this exciting? The chance to meet a young and un-murdered copy of your human lusus?” Terezi gleefully teased. “I think a celebratory greeting comic should be in order! Remind me what some of your lusus’s interests were again? I will probably need to create several drafts before I can consider my gift worthy of your alternate guardian.”

“I guess,” Dave answered. “I mean, whatever. If your comic has puppets and butts in it, I think he’ll like it, kinda.”

“And super cool swords. Hey, remember when you did an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle of his sword when you found his bod—”

“ _Hey_ , is any of this relevant to what you found when you were licking books like the melted drippings of the most sagacious ice cream cone?”

“It is not,” Kanaya filled him in. “Due to some extrapolation from the temporal placement of our own dancestors in the A2 incarnation of our home planet, we were able to determine the unique arrangement of your ancestors and selves in the new session, but that’s about it.”

“Great, so all the rest of this is totally useless. Tell Rose about it so she can stuff it in her nigh-unreadable tome of useless shit we learned about how a whole ton of universes ended.” Dave slumped on the table a bit this time. “Where is Rose, anyway?”

“I think she is asleep. Or at least, that was her present activity the last time I saw her, which was admittedly many hours ago.”

“Close enough,” Dave said. He poked the top book of a large tower and pushed it all the way forward until it fell down. “Hey, if we know this much about the new session, what else do we still have left to learn?”

“Hopefully more about the enemies waiting for us when we arrive,” Terezi said.

“Yeah, I guess. But we still have a year left. Why can’t we pick up where we left off, scouting around Beforus and learning about Karmeric and stuff?”

“I believe that would have something to do with the way that half of our research force has seemed to completely lose interest,” Kanaya said dryly. “Rose cannot muster the energy or focus to pursue the topic, Vriska’s attention has shifted to battle strategy, and Karkat has been difficult to find lately.”

“You’re telling me. What gives with that? We’re you and he supposed to talk to someone?”

“We spoke to Rufioh, and also to Damara. Then she asked to see Karkat alone, and when we woke, he said that she had given him an unreadable history text. Perhaps he has been attempting to translate it, but from what I gathered it was not promising.”

“So if anyone is going to keep digging up the secrets of the Blood-Stained Knight, it’s going to be us,” Terezi said. “But then again, I think Vriska is going in the right direction, having us prepare to fight whatever will be waiting for us.”

“Is it just me, or are you two getting chummier lately? Like, more than usual,” Dave accused.

“Whatever do you mean, coolkid?”

“I get you two were on a team for a while, but all through my session you and her were at each other’s throats fighting some kind of passive aggressive proxy war with John and me. Then John punched Vriska out cold to keep you from killing her, and then you hung out a lot to like, make up for lost time. But now it feels like you’re following her orders. Wasn’t letting Vriska do whatever the fuck she wanted exactly the thing that created that massive doomed splinter timeline that all the dancestors know us from?”

“Ugh, you don’t get it,” Terezi told him. “Vriska is not suggesting we hop off this meteor and fling ourselves onto Jack’s sword in an attempt to beat him. This is all very standard battle prep, and you wouldn’t know it, but it’s extremely reminiscent of orders our dear leader Karkat used to give to us in the game. ‘How close are you to your next fraymotif, grind experience for your echeladder, use this new treasure to upgrade your weapon,' on and on and on! You think Vriska is rubbing your nub the wrong way, Karkat was ten times worse.”

Piping up with a good word for their candy-blooded comrade, Kanaya said, “His insistence on continued improvement in pursuit of our objectives is the reason we won the game in the first place, is it not?”

“The court recognizes that Kanaya has made a good point,” Terezi said. “But trust me on the Vriska front. I know what went wrong sweeps ago, and I’m keeping a nose out for warning signs. She’s staying well inside the lines right now.”

“And you’re so crazy good at knowing how to not cross lines, am I right?” Dave quipped.

“Do we need to talk something out, coolkid?”

“I should probably give you some privacy to pursue that topic together.” Kanaya stood up. “You may continue to debate the lengths to which you will trust Vriska to not fuck everything up. I’m going to go.”

“Yeah, I pretty much don’t give a shit either. Not that it isn’t rad to hang out with you, but I got some shit to attend to,” Dave decided, joining Kanaya as she made her way to the transportalizer. Maybe he’d send Karkat another few messages to see if he was actually alive and willing to hang out. He gestured to the gray pad to let Kanaya go first. “After you.”

Just as Kanaya set foot on the gray circle, a burst of light and newly formed matter knocked her back and onto her fashionable ass.

“Augh, why does that always happen!?” she complained, glaring at the interloper who had caused such indignity.

As if summoned by conversation concerning her, Vriska Serket stood on the transportalizer, tall and proud and arms folded across her chest.

“Status report from the nerd squad!” she announced. “Terezi, fill me in on what we’ve learned about the new session so far.”

“Oh my god, we’ve already done that,” Dave groaned. “I can’t take that much technobabble again. Later.”

“Strider, you’re on my shit list today, so you keep your ass parked where I can grill it.” Vriska pointed back to one of the chairs.

Terezi giggled. “Barbecued Strider butt, I call dibs!”

“Gross,” Dave complained.

“Fine, I can get the in-depth review later. Just please tell me we know what we’re up against here.”

“The post-scratch humans are hopelessly lost without us, but luckily for everyone involved, we both have what the other needs. If we can pull this off, two broken sessions will become one whole.”

“There we go, was that so hard to sit through, Daaaaaaaave?”

“Excruciating. Cruel and unusual torture. I’m gonna sue you for every boondollar you have for putting me through that.”

“Not if I sue you first!”

“Both of you, please! There’s only so much legislaceration to go around!” Terezi said, smiling her shark-toothed grin at their argument.

“Fine! This is stupid anyway!” Vriska changed the subject, but stayed focused on Dave. “Strider, any chance you’re capable of using your strife specibus like a normal hero for once? Or are you still running around with a broken hunk of scrap metal for a weapon?”

“Uncalled for, and rude, and no, I think I’m good to go,” Dave answered. “That Welsh thing I got is feeling pretty good right now.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s prove it.”

“What.”

“Sparring time! You and me, Dave! I’ve got a bladekind from my FLARPing days, so as long as you’re not a completely incompetent wiggler, the fight should be pretty interesting.”

“Fuck that, I’ll spar with Karkat,” Dave said.

“What!!!!!!!! You can’t just ignore a lady’s challenge, Dave!”

“Watch me. If I spar with you, you’re gonna make a huge deal out of who wins or loses even though it's a practice round. If I spar with Karkat then it’s just gonna be chill and I don’t have to worry about you taking my head off because you’re a sore loser.”

“Who said I’m gonna lose?!”

“No one, but you’re just proving my point that you’re too competitive and also full of shit. So let me go.”

“Maybe _you’re_ just not being competitive enough!” Vriska insisted, stepping to make sure she stayed between Dave and the transportalizer. “I thought you wanted to help us win this thing, so we can all have a new universe without overpowered, indestructible foes trying to murder us all the time. Or is all the effort that you put into the Scratch going to go to waste because _someone_ couldn’t be bothered to make sure he stayed sharp during a hiatus?”

“Oh man, look at you, totally pushing my buttons about my friends. I’ll train, okay? But I’m gonna do it my way, and it’s gonna not involve you.”

“Then how am I going to monitor your progress?”

“By kissing my ass. I’ll even lie down so it looks more like an eight to satisfy your octopus fetish.”

“It’s _spiders_! And fuck you for calling it a fetish. It’s an elegant and respectable number that makes for a lovely quirk!”

“Yawn. Can I practice napping instead? You’re putting me to sleep with how boring you’re being.”

“No!!!!!!!! Strider, get your latest hunk of shitty metal and meet me in the sparring room! That’s an order!”

“And I’m telling you, no way in hell.”

Kanaya scooted slightly closer, looking between Dave and Vriska with concern and resignation. Luckily, before she needed to make a decision about whether or not this needed an ashen intervention, Terezi beat her to it.

“Hang on just a second, you two!” She held up a finger. “There’s no reason for us to be fighting each other over this. Dave, since Karkat is mysteriously indisposed and you’re not looking for a champion’s duel, why not spar with Kanaya?”

“Me?” Kanaya said.

“What,” Dave added.

“It’s perfect! Kanaya needs the practice too, and I think she can keep a calm level of sportsmanship about her. Can’t she?” Terezi’s eyebrows went off again, bouncing suggestively.

“I… Oh! Oh, yes indeed!” Kanaya caught on, and stiffened her spine and arms in an attempt to look intimidating. “Rest assured, Dave Strider, I have a multitude of chainsaw-like objects which I am able to wield in a deadly manner! But I will not be deadly in this instance because though I wish to do battle I am not pathologically obsessed with being a winner.” Kanaya’s gaze drifted from Dave to Vriska as her sentence ended.

Catching on that Kanaya probably intended to leave the room and abandon him, Dave played along. “Alright, I can dig that. Just don’t cry to your nanny monster too hard when I kick that satin-clad ass of yours.”

Steamed by this supposed insubordination, Vriska cut her losses. “Fine, I’ll come and watch.”

“Afraid you can’t, Vriska, you have a previous engagement,” Terezi countered.

“What? Why?”

“You specifically requested the in-depth review of my nerdalicious discoveries. I should tell you while it’s fresh in my mind!”

“Uuuuuuuugh, _fine_! Fussyfangs and Lamebrain can go whack weapons together in _private_.”

“That’s what she said,” Dave muttered.

“Who precisely is the ‘she’ in this scenario?” Kanaya asked.

“No one. It doesn’t matter, let’s go.” Dave ushered Kanaya toward the transportalizer again, let her vanish, and followed her out.

Once they were gone, Terezi sat back down at the table and kicked her feet up in a way that looked tremendously hard-boiled, which was how she liked it. Vriska, on the other hand, was not amused.

“What the fuck was that? You know I need to see them spar to assess their progress!”

“Once again, you’ve gotten pretty damn soft in your manipulation skills,” Terezi told her. “If you can’t force someone to do exactly what you want, you need to make them want to do the next best thing. And would you rather butt heads with him for an hour over that?”

“You could have at least given me a reminder about that before I acted like such a hardass.”

“You wouldn’t have listened. That’s just who you are.” She smiled wider. “You need to switch gears between engineering the demise of the wicked and engineering the success of the virtuous. It uses all those same scumbag tactics you and I built together. It just takes a new tone and a new mission.”

Vriska arrogantly flipped her hair. “You don’t have to lecture _me_ about engineering success. If I recall, _my_ dorky human boy is the one who made it to God Tier under my guidance. Dave got his by lucky accident you had no hand in predicting.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Uh, me?”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Wait, what? Did you know he’d go God Tier?”

“I’m not telling…”

“Jegus, Terezi! If you knew that the Crypt Bed could send us God Tier, why didn’t you tell anyone before? We could have added some more powerhouses to the roster and maybe stood up to Jack!”

“Simple, because I didn’t know. I was pulling your frond.”

With an exaggerated huff, Vriska finally sat down too, with Terezi snickering at her. “Why is it so hard to get a handful of morons to listen to a superior so they can get shit done?”

“Beats me. Try asking Karkat, he has experience in the realm of morons getting shit done. Better yet, you could delegate all of this to him! You and I can focus on reconnaissance, Team Scourge back in action, kicking butt and taking names, while Karkat does all the stupid micromanagement of how many perfectly generic objects we can slay in practice.”

“No, it’s fine… I’ll deal with it.”

“Is it because you’re sick of taking orders from Karkat?”

“Pft, obviously,” Vriska said, but her words had the subtle odor of a lie. Terezi figured she could press for answers later.

“Speaking of Vantas, Dave brought up the Beforus ancestry project again. He tasted a little sour about how we had let that slide.”

“Well, he’ll just have to deal with it. If the Condesce and Jack are going to be waiting for us, we need a plan to first buy us time to get Jade, John, and the new humans up to speed, and then the real fight will begin.”

“And that’s very excellent, Vriska. I’m on the same page with you there. But you just saw, it’s really hard to motivate people to fight when there’s no war.”

“There _is_ a war! It’s waiting for us in a year!”

“This isn’t like the Chimeric’s rebellion, with everyone living like soldiers. Dave, Kanaya, probably Rose and Karkat too, they just want to live.”

“Wait a minute… you said Dave wanted to pick up the Beforus stuff again?”

“I did.”

“You think he’d roleplay the war parts too? That could be the key to getting Strider off his ass!”

Terezi made an astonished ‘o’ with her mouth. “You really think that’ll work?”

“Of course! Dave might be right that I take games too seriously, but some games determine the fate of the universe.  We really can’t afford to let any of these chumps get lazy.”

“I’m behind you on that." Terezi offered Vriska a fist, which the Thief of Light bumped. “But what’s your plan for Rose right now?”

“She’s sick, right? I didn’t know God Tiers could get sick.”

“Maybe they can’t. But God Tiers can die, too, and she doesn’t even need to be dead for us to be in deep hoofbeastshit.”

“Is this related to that awful stuff she keeps drinking? Where is she even _getting_ that from? Like, is it carapacian abomination clone slime or something?”

“I’ll put out some questions around the dreambubbles to see if there are any ghosts that know what’s going on. Leave that part to me. And while you’re trying to get the boys interested in being heroes again, keep an eye on Kanaya. You owe her that.”

“Owe her? What could I possibly owe her?”

“Wasn’t she your loyal and charitable server player who saved your life?”

“Well, yeah, but we all saved each other at least a few dozen times over.”

“Since I’m trusting you on the decision to go back and do more research about Beforus, trust _me_ that you need to keep a closer eye on Kanaya. Make sure she’s doing okay.”

“Ugh, you can’t possibly be suggesting she and I go _pale_ again? That was such a disaster the last time.”

“Not pale! No, no way, you don’t need to do that. Maybe you can call it… protective. Kanaya puts up with more than she should. More than you would, at least. And maybe she needs someone to teach her when enough is enough.”

Vriska couldn’t meet Terezi’s blind eyes, but Terezi still caught a whiff of a very suspicious glare. “Do you know something that I don’t? Compared to the rest of our chucklefuck friends, Kanaya has her sponge screwed on straightest of us all.”

“Precisely. And would you want to deal with Kanaya joining the insanity locomotive too, with all of the fiery irons you have to worry about?

“Obviously not.”

“So all you have to do is keep an eye out for her! Then I’ll work on the Rose problem and find a way to cure her strange liquid consumption sickness.”

A moment of silence stayed between them, with Terezi grinning and Vriska frowning, before the Thief spoke. “You know, we’re on the same side, right? You’re not actually going to try and double-cross me on this, like you have every single time in the past?”

The smile cracked a bit, but Terezi had an answer. “There’s nothing to worry about this time. I just had to take action because you had hurt and killed some of our friends. But now, there’s literally no side to be on except yours. And you can bet your last boondollar that I am on your side until the end.”

“My god, you are sappy,” Vriska said, reaching across the table to clap her shoulder. “C’mon, if you want me to follow through on all of your oh-so-amaaaaaaaazing ideas, you need to get off your ass and into gear!”

With a hint of teal on her face, Terezi stood up and followed Vriska out. She had some hard sleeping ahead of her.

 

* * *

 

_Vriska never enjoyed end of life memorials. She much preferred to send flowers to the memorials of trolls she had ordered to be assassinated. Attending them herself was out of the question. There was too much emotion spilling out everywhere, people falling to pieces over the fact one of their number was no longer with them. For close personal friends of the Stalwart, Vriska understood their desire to hold some sort of disgusting conciliatory outburst together. His fellow Guardians and the remaining students who did not flee when the Chimeric burned through their culling institution had obviously suffered a great loss._

_But the_ rabble _showed up as well, the insignificant, small-minded, and short-lived trolls who probably only came because never in their lives had they heard of a blueblooded murder victim. They whispered to each other, and bending an ear to their thoughts, Vriska heard them contemplating rumor after rumor. The Stalwart had been decapitated. The Stalwart had begged for his life. No, for his cullee’s lives. He had lost all his limbs. The Chimeric was a rainbowdrinker. On and on, gruesome speculation that only served to make all of them more afraid._

_Disgusting. But unfortunately, Lawscale had insisted on attending. Vriska had thought it would be unwise to let her go alone._

_Even though the two probably could have claimed positions closer to the stage, the Vigilant hung back. She even wore a plain coat with no color. Vriska had followed suit, since her cooler color would surely cast attention on Lawscale that she was trying to avoid. There were speeches, and long, sad melodies on mournful instruments, and a statement issued from the Compasse. Surely their radiant Empress would have preferred to attend in person, but with her moirail still held captive by the enemy, the government would not survive her absence in this time of crisis._

_Vriska scanned the line of Guardians who managed to attend as the memorial dissolved. She recognized the pointed horns of Trueshot in the distance, and calculated how to reach him. Just in case, she had brought her most recently drafted letter to the Benevole. None of it referenced the tragedy, but it did speak of urgency, regret, and sorrow. Maybe if she had changed the name and a few choice words, it could have passed for a eulogy for the Stalwart._

_“Give me a few minutes,” Vriska told Lawscale. “I’ll stay in sight and everything, so you know I’ll be back.”_

_“Just go, Prospera,” Lawscale answered._

_The crowds parted for the disgraced Marquise, with only the smallest of mental nudges to make the hotblooded throng step aside and let her pass. With this power, she strutted through the crowd and arrived near the gate to the school before Trueshot could leave._

_“Esteemed Guardian,” she called out, giving the man pause. “I would like to express my sincerest apologies for your loss.”_

_“I did not know you were capable of sincerity,” he answered._

_“In recognition of your fallen peer, could you please grant me the benefit of the doubt? I feel more culpable than anyone here.”_

_“How so?”_

_“Lawscale has been supporting my investigation into the movements of the Chimeric, so that I may restore my station as a law-abiding citizen of Beforus.” She left her romantic aspirations out of her description. “If only we had discovered his movements earlier, we could have prepared a true defense, and saved the life of the Stalwart.”_

_“It is not your fault. This investigation obviously requires skills beyond your caste.”_

_Vriska had endured centuries of hemoist comments, and none had bothered her before now. “Be careful with words like that, Trueshot. Trolls may abandon the hemospectrum out of sheer offense and join_ his _cause.”_

_“I should advise you to be careful expressing opinions contrary to the social order. Do not make excuses for the Chimeric’s crimes.”_

_“You misunderstand me! No one is suggesting that his actions are justified. But with a bit of reflection, you may find them rational.” Vriska took a few steps closer, slow and measured. “Please accept my apologies for that tangent. I did not find you in order to discuss criminal mentalities. Is the Benevole well?”_

_“She is.” Trueshot looked more suspicious than ever._

_“If you are here, then who is protecting her?”_

_“The phalanx of the API is maintaining a temporary asylum for her.”_

_Vriska nodded, content. Lawscale’s cullee and her own matesprit, sharing a hive roof. She wondered how much their two precious treasures knew about the tension between Vigilant and Marquise. With a smooth motion, Vriska extracted her letter and gave it to Trueshot. “For the Benevole’s consideration. I trust the others arrived safely, did they not?”_

_“They did.”_

_“Excellent, that is all I need to know. I won’t ask you to bring my love to her. It would require strength beyond your caste to hold.”_

_Trueshot gripped the letter, perhaps unconsciously, turning it into a wad of fibers and ink. Paper was flimsy, but it at least did not break when crushed. “Please excuse me, but I am needed elsewhere.”_

_“Good luck, Guardian Trueshot!” Vriska waved with practiced elegance before turning away. She had made her point, sent her message, and now she had to return to Lawscale. This had been a mistake for sure, one that could not be reversed. But, Vriska was no stranger to battles lost and wars won. All they had to do was keep their eye on the prize._

_When Vriska returned, a large number of trolls had cleared away, escorted off the premises by cullers who did not think staying in such a morbid place would be healthy for their charges. Vriska witnessed a minor official try and shoo Lawscale away from the site of the memorial, but Lawscale showed proof of her status as a Vigilant and was left alone. When Vriska reached her side, she looked Lawscale over. She had her head bowed, like she was ‘looking’ at the bronze plaque fitted into the ground for the Stalwart, but Vriska knew she could see nothing._

_“When shall we leave?”_

_“Give me a little more time.”_

_“Understood.”_

_So Vriska stood beside Lawscale, reading the pretentious poem engraved on the memorial plate and calculating the exact age of the Stalwart. Four hundred and thirteen sweeps, hm? Cut down in the middle of his lifespan. And of course, the body had not been on display, so Vriska could not confirm the exact condition he had been left in upon his death._

_Flapbeasts chirped in the trees. A slight breeze stirred, then calmed. The moons shone bright and clear without a single cloud in the sky. Surely the mood of this event called for some form of precipitation? That would at least match the Vigilant’s dour appearance. Another groundskeeper approached to try and make Lawscale leave. She showed her identification again and got to stay._

_“Everyone else is gone,” Vriska voiced at last. “Why are we still here?”_

_“I’m thinking.”_

_“Surely we could do that in a block somewhere, or in a vehicle to our next destination. The Chimeric has almost definitely fled by now, but if we can predict his next target—”_

_“That’s not what I’m thinking about.”_

_“…That’s what you_ need _to think about. There is a war waiting for us. We cannot allow one setback to stop our ultimate objective.”_

_“You don’t understand.”_

_“Then explain it to me.”_

_“This is something we can’t recover. We can’t reverse this.”_

_“That is the definition of death, yes.”_

_“You insensitive bitch,” Lawscale muttered._

_Vriska bristled at that. She had long since traded barbs and insults with the Vigilant, passively and actively, but Lawscale had no fire in her words. Like she was distracted._

_“This is about the Chimeric, isn’t it? You aren’t truly mourning the Stalwart. You’re mourning his killer.”_

_“It’s not like that.”_

_“It sounds like it is. You care more about the fact that your precious prodigy has stained his hands with blood than you do about the troll who shed it.”_

_“And you care more about running back to the matesprit who dumped you than you do about securing peace. Let us simply agree that we are pot and kettle and move on.”_

_“Fiiiiiiiine. Neither of us are doing this for the right reasons. But we are on the right side, that much is clear. And there’s more to this than a simple murder, isn’t there?”_

_“You are welcome to speculate such a thing.”_

_“I humbly accept your gracious permission to speculate,” Vriska taunted, but the comment failed to get a rise out of her companion. Better try a new angle. “If I am not mistaken… you and the Chimeric shared more of an ideological connection than a true social one, did you not?”_

_Lawscale said nothing._

_“Are you afraid your own writings inspired him to revolt?”_

_“That’s ridiculous.”_

_“But is it wrong?”_

_“It must be, I never advocated for this.”_

_“But you are afraid that it is true.”_

_“What do you know about fear?”_

_Vriska paused. She couldn’t answer this question hastily. She thought she knew moments of fear. She knew fear of punishment from powerful figures she had slighted, legitimate and criminal. She feared for the Benevole. She feared for her life. She feared for her freedom. And the source of that fear…_

_“I spent sweeps fearing you. You really are an amazing Vigilant,” Vriska decided. “We are both more powerful than we know. Perhaps the only difference between us is that you know how to use your power for justice.”_

_“You’re flattering me.”_

_“Maybe. But I’m not lying.”_

_They stood in silence for a while longer. Yet another custodian wanted to interrupt them, but Vriska pushed enough doubt into their mind to make them reconsider and leave. Even standing over a memorial, horrified by violence and haunted by failure, Vriska couldn’t think of a moment when she had ever felt this… peaceful._

_Eventually, Lawscale spoke. “You have a lot to learn about constructing a convincing case. That would never stand in a courtblock.”_

_“We’re not in a courtblock.”_

_“No, we are not.” Lawscale took another breath through her nose, then exhaled. “Come on then, Prospera. We need to thoroughly examine this place for evidence if we’re going to find their next destination.”_

_Vriska smiled. “You don’t need to tell me twice.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday, all! Welcome to Mind Game, what I expect to be the final installation in the Blood-Stained Knight series! *trumpets*
> 
> Things have had a lot of ups and downs since the end of Missing Links. On the plus side, I won my September NaNoWriMo with flying colors and I’m prepping to integrate a lot of feedback into future drafts. That project is going strong and I’m still so pumped to continue building that from the ground-up. I spent a lot of October smoothing out my plans for the finale of this fanfic so I am prepped and ready to knock this out of the park. On top of all that, I am super psyched for my absolute favorite gift-giving holiday.
> 
> On the other hand, November was a rough month overall. The US election has definitely made the world a bit colder. I was also laid off from my job about a month ago, and though I know I’m going to make it to the next opportunity okay, the lack of routine made it really hard to write through November, fanfiction or otherwise. (If anyone can hook me up with a customer support or office manager position in NYC... that would be greeeeeat… ^^”) And just a few days ago, while attempting to transfer data to a new computer, I deleted some files and lost pretty much everything I had ever written. It’s due to the power of my amazing beta MostlyHarmless (and Google Docs) that my drafts for Mind Game and some other crucial projects were saved.
> 
> So November has kind of sucked. Still, I’m taking the bad with the good. I have a few chapters of this buffered up so I can start some fairly regular updates and hopefully keep the flow going. Thank you all so much for following me this far, and I hope that the end of this wild ride can have an amazing finale!


	2. Healing and Hope

_The_ Absolution _sailed away, seeking refuge in mists and breezes on a more northern shore. The wind could barely muster up more than a whisper in the sails, but that was fine. They didn’t need to run, just hide, or so the Seafarer said. The Tameless found task after chore after skill she could assign to the new recruits to fill the time. But the Chimeric was the one everyone worried about. Since setting sail, he moved, spoke, and acted with a deep hollowness, like he had been replaced with a puppet. Even remembering the deep depression that had followed his sixth wriggling day, Gamzee found this worse. Back then, the young wiggler didn’t have the energy to care about anything. He was simply empty. Now, he looked broken. And everyone noticed._

_The band of petty criminals and lieutenants from Marquise Prospera’s ship looked on him with sympathy for a while. They had each been preparing for such a moment, and knew that the Chimeric had kept his promise to them. He would kill to keep them safe. And he had. But as the nights passed and the Chimeric’s shock persisted, uncertainty came into their hearts. Would killing do that to each of them? Was that worth it? If this was what happened to a troll after taking one life, could the Chimeric be trusted to lead them through dozens, hundreds, or thousands of deaths?_

_While at first, the existing rebels did all they could to reassure the new recruits, those students started to become suspicious of the Chimeric. His words had inspired them while they were kept in a hive like captive beasts, but now that they had been led out of safety and into uncertainty, the spell was wearing off. The Chimeric looked wild to them, all his signs of unrest and strain exaggerated by the blazing scarlet in his eyes. The bloodstains from the Stalwart would not come out of his shirt. The indigo splattered across his chest reminded them constantly that the Chimeric had murdered their former protector. What if they had made a terrible mistake?_

_Gamzee wanted to ask the Chimeric what to do. He knew the strategy would be to return with inspiring rhetoric, bond the rebels and recruits together and foster friendship and loyalty, use the bonds between them to prosper. But if Gamzee was going to make that happen, he’d need instructions, and none came. When they retired to their block to pile and sleep, the Chimeric could barely say a word. He would cling tight to Gamzee and take slow, shuddering breaths, trying to stay calm. Then two or three times during the night, the Chimeric would need pacification to not break down in front of the others. And all the while, he had no orders for anyone._

_“What now?” the new recruits asked._

_“Now you’re going to learn how to fight hand-to-hand,” the Tameless answered._

_“What after that? Where are we going?”_

_“We’re going north, to throw the Vigilants off our trail,” the Seafarer told them._

_“And after? What will we do next?”_

_With their survivalist and navigator unable to answer to their satisfaction, they turned to Gamzee. They had questions, they had problems, they had fears. And Gamzee had nothing. Even knowing that his moirail was in no state to answer them himself, he had to say something._

_After one of their emergency piling sessions, with the Chimeric cuddled to his chest and coming out of another spell of shivers, Gamzee started to speak softly. “My little bro…  know you’re fighting your own mess of day terrors, but if you can find some motherfucking strength, the crew wants to hear from you. There’s a lot of knowledge they’re seeking… I can talk to them if you tell me what to say, but it’s gotta come from you.”_

_He felt pinpricks of tears on his chest—scalding, his little bro, even when he cried—and then the Chimeric pulled back, running a hand through his hair to smooth it out before straightening his bloodstained tunic. “…Okay. I can go.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“You wouldn’t have asked me… if there wasn’t a problem.”_

_“I believe in you, little bro.”_

_“And I pity you, Murfle.”_

_They emerged from the hold and onto the deck, with clusters of trolls working or talking or both. The Chimeric’s presence on deck added caution to the atmosphere as people glanced the Chimeric’s way, but stayed back. Gamzee reached out to offer the Chimeric a touch of comfort, on his back or shoulder, but he stepped forward, out of arm’s reach._

_“If I may have everyone’s attention, please!” The Chimeric spoke clear and loud, but Gamzee knew it lacked the force of his previous speeches. “I would like to formally apologize for my recent absences. The battle at the culling institute proved more taxing than I anticipated. Still, I want to maintain my commitment to all of you, that we will create a world of freedom for all who wish to join us.”_

_He paused, taking a breath, and Gamzee felt the need to speak, to cover his silence, but he had no idea what to say. With all eyes on the Chimeric, the others were silent, too._

_“…And, it has come to my attention,” he finally resumed, “that many of the new recruits among us are not familiar with the complete core of our ideals. While I will not have answers for every question, I would like to hear from each of you. What are your wants? What are your concerns? I will explain all I can.”_

_“So just anyone can talk?” the Deadbeat spoke first._

_“Yes.”_

_“I want the Seafarer to catch us another one of those bladefish, that was delicious.”_

_“Piss off, I ain’t your lusus,” the Seafarer answered from the helm, and light chuckles spread through the ship, though they ended quickly._

_“Thank you for that feedback,” the Chimeric said, more seriously than the joke called for. “Anyone else?”_

_One of the new olivebloods raised her hand, and waited for the Chimeric’s nod to speak. “Why did you choose to come to our institution?”_

_“Strategic advantage,” the Chimeric answered. “Anyone else?”_

_She looked unsatisfied with such a curt response, but the forum had to move on. Another former student raised his hand. “Why did you kill the Stalwart?”_

_“He stood between us and escape.”_

_“I mean, I want to be here as much as the next troll, but I didn’t know you would…” The troll waved his hand to imply what he meant. “And besides, weren’t you supposed to be a Guardian? Wouldn’t you have done what he did if you had warmbloods to protect?”_

_“I did. All of you,” the Chimeric said._

_“But he wouldn’t have killed you! That’s what I mean!”_

_“Next question.”_

_“I just want to know why you did it! Am I following a Guardian or a murderer?!”_

_“He told you, motherfucker,” Gamzee cut in, shutting him down._

_One of the old passengers of the_ Lux Volans _jumped in. “How will attack targets be selected from now on?”_

_“There’s going to be more fighting?!” a frightened student cried._

_“Of course, we’re fighting for our freedom.”_

_“But we’re free right_ now _! We’re on this ship where no one can tell us what to do or be! Isn’t it enough?”_

_The Chimeric answered. “There will be more obstacles between ourselves and true freedom. We will need to take a stand at several locations in order to win against the Compasse.”_

_“What kind of locations?”_

_“Places with resources. Strategic advantage.”_

_“Are we going to attack any more culling institutions?”_

_“I don’t know. Next question.”_

_“Why do we have to kill!?” the scared student from before repeated._

_“Because we will be opposed.”_

_“My hivemate opposed me all the time, but I never killed her! We’re trolls, not savage animals, we aren’t built for killing!”_

_“I lived as a beast for twenty sweeps. Trolls are absolutely built for killing,” the Tameless testified. “And treating trolls as better or worse based on blood color is the real threat here.”_

_“But why would there be a hemospectrum if we’re supposed to be all the same?”_

_“If you wanna live by the hemospectrum you can do it back at your prison!” a rebel shouted._

_“Maybe I will! I don’t know why I believed those riddles, you all are just desperate criminals following a filthy mutant, just like the newsfeeds said!”_

_Voices rose and shouted over each other, with rebels calling the students cowardly weaklings as the students retaliated by calling them insane scum. Through all of it, the Chimeric stood still. He should have said something to stop them by now, not just to support harmonious and judgment-free dialogue, but to defend his own honor and keep the ship from falling apart._ What happened to those bridges you used to build, my little bro?

_“QUIET!”_

_The Seafarer’s voice roared through the noise, silencing all. He stepped away from the helm to stand among the crew and address them himself._

_“I am the Seafarer, moirail to Her Radiant Compassion, who abandoned quadrant, duty, and glory to follow the Chimeric. Let that stand as proof that his philosophy is worth believin’ in. And I am the commander of the_ Absolution _, and this ship will only see you safely to shore if you can teach each other and take orders! Let that stand as a warnin’ to anyone who wants to see someone else thrown off this ship.”_

_Reflexively, the students crumpled, contrite and meek before a seadweller. The rebels stayed more defiant, but the logic of survival convinced them to shelve their grievances for now._

_“Now, take stations! Students with mentors!”_

_With the debate all but ended, Gamzee stepped out from over the Chimeric’s shoulder and knelt before him, reaching out to rub his arm. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, little bro. I believe in you.”_

_The Chimeric tried to look Gamzee in the eye, but his gaze kept dropping. “I… I’m sorry… I can’t…”_

_“Shhhh,” Gamzee whispered, and he stood again, this time to guide the Chimeric back below. Time to strip him out of that cursed bloodstained cloth and let him cry, let him sleep, let him heal._

 

* * *

 

It took Karkat twenty or so minutes of struggle, but he removed the vent cover from his claimed respite block, giving himself access to the meteor’s mess of ducts and tunnels. It looked dusty, and rusty, and cramped inside.

This moment right here would be a strong contender for the craziest thing Karkat had ever done, if there weren’t so many other events populating the scoreboard. Like, this was pretty certifiably insane, like someone-should-cull-him-before-he-hurts-himself insane. So far, Gamzee had shown up three more times but kept his distance, staying in the corners and shadows. The last time, with his face still poking out of the vent, he had reached an arm down, offering to bring Karkat in with him. He hadn't been able to go, because Vriska had set another boring awful discussion group about training or whatever, and the look of pain on Gamzee’s face made Karkat wish he had gone with him. So, he needed to go now.

He stuck his feet in the hole first, before realizing that was a terrible way to crawl around the vents, so he went face-first instead, dragging his body along the narrow passage. He reached his first fork in the road and realized this wasn’t just insane, it was stupid. The layout of the vents had to be at least as complicated as the meteor itself. He was barely ten feet into the metal duct and he knew he’d get lost.

“Um… Gamzee?!” he called into the tunnels. “I want to visit. I mean, like, meet up with you, but in your block, where you’ve been living. Can you give me a sign? Like, use a shitty horn to signal me or something?”

Silence.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Gamzee had been able to hear him so far. When Karkat knew he was alone, Gamzee was never more than five minutes away. He was always close enough to hear Karkat speak. But now, it didn’t seem like—

 _Honk_.

Karkat jumped and slammed his head on the top of the vent, answering the horn honk with a clang and some choice curse words. Apparently, dragging Sollux’s unconscious body around and receiving messages from Gamzee through everyone else’s accounts—maybe proving they were dead—where Gamzee vowed to turn him inside out and paint the walls with his blood were hard memories to shake. The honk of a horn brought him right back to that panic.

But… he had to remember. Gamzee was scared, too. And Karkat couldn’t abandon him.

“Gamzee?”

An agonizing number of seconds passed, with his pump biscuit relocating to his skull to beat up his thought sponge. Then…

 _Honk_.

The sound echoed from the left path. So that’s where Karkat dragged himself.

They played call-and-response for a few minutes, as Karkat’s knees and elbows started to ache. How did Gamzee crawl around this place so easily? He even had much taller horns than Karkat, so he would have to keep his face down. How did he navigate this labyrinth without someone able to honk the path out for him?

But eventually, the game paid off. Karkat arrived at a wider, block-sized space, and the first thing he thought was, _how can he be living like this?_ The block looked like a tornado had ripped its way through a garbage dump and then taken a messy, leaking shit on top of it. The most common pieces of refuse were Faygo bottles, but they had been fused with all manner of other trash: wrappers from processed snacks, stray crusts of grubloaf dunked in congealed sauce, a bulky pair of over-ear headphones, horns galore, something that looked like a tattered Scalemate, rumpled posters of fairies and one of some rugged human action hero that had blue lip prints on it, Unireal Air, mismatched juggling clubs, an array of other weapons from their game session, dusty and stained clothes all in shades of black, gray, and purple, one of those dark bottles Rose poured into mugs, loose boondollars, and wait a second was that Karkat’s copy of _Rage and Repugnance_? He had been missing it for perigees, why had Gamzee taken it? Had he left it in a chest? Had someone else stolen it and left it in a chest that Gamzee opened, and by the rules of chestiquette he had to take it?

And where the fuck was Gamzee in the middle of this?!

“Gamzee?” Karkat said aloud, looking for a lump of trash large enough to contain Gamzee’s body and horns. “This is where you wanted me to go, right?”

Nothing. God fucking dammit. Fuck every orifice of ‘it’ and then condemn it to an afterlife of eternal damnation, by the power vested in Karkat as the god of the human universe, which had already been completely obliterated before he had the chance to do anything particularly deific. He used a foot and gently nudged a pie tin. Was that even a pie tin? The edges had been rounded too much… was it plastic? How could you make a pie tin out of plastic? That was insane.

Karkat mushed his hands into his eyeballs and rubbed around. The physical stinging and pressure helped him get his bearings. This was fine. Everything was fine. He was just standing in the hidden block of a former friend who murdered their other friends and who he had completely lost contact with for a sweep and a half and still hadn’t really spoken to, but just really seemed in need of… something. And hopefully it was something Karkat could provide.

Okay, maybe this was another clown-too-scared-to-act-rational kind of thing. Maybe Gamzee just wanted Karkat to see his room and get used to it before seeing him _in_ it. Like the shock of this oinkbeast-sty would wear off and Karkat wouldn’t judge Gamzee too hard for letting things get this bad.

And if he really thought about it, living in a block like this couldn’t help Gamzee feel like a normal troll.

Karkat bent down to pick up one of the grubsauce-encrusted crusts, then withdrew his hand. Okay, that thing looked fucking rancid. Even just smelling it made him feel disgusting from the inside out. He thumbed through his sylladex for anything that could be used as a barrier, then eventually settled on using one of Gamzee’s own semi-clean discarded shirts. He made it into a kind of puppet-glove and started tossing all of the obviously garbage things out into the entering vent pipe.

“I’m just going to clean up around here,” Karkat announced to the emptiness. “So if there’s something I shouldn’t touch… just honk?”

No honks sounded. So Karkat must be on the right path. With his makeshift mitten, Karkat started getting some semblance of order into the place. There were no apparel storage containers of any kind, proletariat or aristocratic, or anything that passed for a recuperacoon, or even a human ‘bed.’ This was not a fit place for anyone to live, mad or otherwise. Was Vriska the reason he was too scared to claim a normal block like the rest of them? Would he still be living in the vents if she wasn’t here?

A few categories started to emerge. Garbage was just out. Then he put the clothes in a heap in one corner. Then weapons in another. Bullshit that he had reason to believe belonged to Gamzee proper—pie tins, joke books, horns, makeup pots, money—all got stacked together. Then stolen bullshit went in the last one. Possessions from basically everyone on the meteor had been hoarded together: one of Sollux’s shoes, some purple tights that probably belonged to Eridan, a multitude of unopened cans, one of the final Aradiabot’s exploded horns… Karkat dropped the curled metal hunk once he realized what it was, almost like he had found a piece of Aradia’s physical corpse. Legends of highbloods de-horning culled lowbloods made his fingers shake.

_Keep it together, Vantas. Gamzee is more scared of you than you are of him._

“Gamzee…” Karkat said. “You don’t deserve _this_. Like, you fucked up, and we all know that, but this? You shouldn’t be here. You should be with the rest of us. Your friends. Just because of your mistakes, that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a place in the new session.”

Something behind Karkat clunked and tumbled down the weapons pile. He shrieked and whipped around to see what had disturbed it, but saw nothing.

“I swear to jegus, just stop playing games! I’m here to help!” Karkat took two deep breaths, and started to slowly turn around the room, scanning for Gamzee. No sudden movements. Don’t scare him more.

He stopped when he noticed one of the shirts in the clothing pile had a troll’s face attached to it. The scars still stood out on Gamzee’s face like lightning on the dimmest day. And his eyes were wide open. Seeing him like this made Karkat realize how much he expected Gamzee’s default expression to be sleepy contentment. Now, he looked suspicious.

“There you are,” Karkat said, trying to keep it causal. “You pulled that bullshit with the horn-honk echolocation to get me here, so I figured you wanted me to show up, right?”

Gamzee kept staring at him.

“Am I… straightening things up right? You’ve let this place go to the barkbeasts.”

He shrugged a little.

“Have you been hanging with Kurloz too much?! You can talk to me, you know.”

Gamzee opened his mouth a little bit, but shut it again, fangs worrying his bottom lip as he looked down at Karkat’s shoes.

“Okay, I get that too. You don’t need to talk. We can just… um, kick the shitty wickedness.”

Karkat took a step closer, and Gamzee stiffened.

“It’s okay… I promise it’s okay. I just want to sit next to you. Can I do that?”

Gamzee drew his knees up under his chin, then nodded very slightly. Inch by inch, Karkat made his way to the edge of the clothes pile and sat down. Really burying himself in it would send the wrong message. Plus, Gamzee didn’t seem to know what to do about sharing a pile.

“So how much does this cost?” Karkat asked.

Two painted eyebrows knitted together.

“You know. When you had all those horns in the main room. You were charging people for naps in the horn pile. How much is it to sit?”

An almost-smile appeared on Gamzee’s face, and he wheezed a little bit, like laughter. Then he shook his head and laid down, horns so close to grazing Karkat’s leg that he nearly flinched. But Gamzee didn’t move after that. He just settled into the pile of worn out t-shirts and fuzzy pants.

So Karkat settled in too. Maybe sitting was free, but he hoped he wouldn’t incur a charge if he fell asleep here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the one who asked, the current update schedule is every 5 days. I'm working to keep my buffer strong and the number of chapters I have in reserve will dictate whether updates speed up or slow down. :)


	3. Pyropes Represent

“So what am I supposed to tell Vriska about you being here?”

“Just don’t tell her a damn thing. I’m totally sparring with Kanaya right now.”

“Listen, it’s not like it’s easy to just outright lie to Vriska. I really need to keep those innocent sisterly falsehoods in reserve for when an active deception is necessary to keep her in line.”

“Fine, I’m a doomed Dave. Getting my haunt on around this Dersite dreamscape and we just happened to bump into each other and decided to hang out.”

“Unlikely.”

“What’s so unlikely about it? Doomed Daves number in the gajillions. Enough to populate my own personal Striderstralia, law number one: be cool. Law number two, don’t be a bitch. And those are the only two laws.”

“I’m saying, it’s unlikely a doomed Dave—in God Tier, no less—would be hanging out with me as I go to speak with my dancestor about Pyrope-related business.”

“Fine then, what excuse would you use?”

“I’m glad you asked, Dave, because my story would be that Kanaya trounced you so hard at training that she knocked you unconscious, which is how we ended up in the dreambubbles together.”

“No, that’s lame. I don’t wanna say Kanaya beat me.”

“Sorry, but that’s the most plausible excuse I can give you! Take it or leave it!”

“You’re never gonna not be fucking with me, are you.”

“How can I stop? Your frustration is almost as delicious as your shirt!”

Realizing his humiliation was absolute, Dave stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed Terezi around the obsidian towers. Sure, the truth was, Dave had totally left the research library and then started drawing some shitty comics before falling asleep because nothing he was doing actually served as creatively fulfilling. And then he had crossed Terezi’s path as she apparently had “a mission or whatever.” Dave immediately stated that he had never expected Terezi to accept a mission from Vriska, but Terezi reassured him that she had been planning on doing this for a long time for totally unrelated reasons. He kind of believed her, at least enough to not press her harder.

“So I know she’s around here somewhere…”

“How are you sure?”

“I heard some sick grinding in the distance.”

It took a bit for that audible clue to pay off, but they did eventually find Latula using the empty basin of a particularly opulent fountain as a bowl. She did a few circles before she noticed their approach, and then started to pull off some more spectacular moves, grinding along the rim, flipping onto her hand for a minute, and jumping to make her skateboard spin underneath her. Each move had an accompanying ‘aw yeah!’ or ‘woo!’ exclamation that made Dave start to picture Latula clipping through some feature of the environment like the shitty skateboard games he used to play on Xbox.

“Hey dancestor!” Terezi called out to her. “Those are some sicknasty moves!”

“Awwww yeah, it’s lil’ me!” Latula hopped out of her improvised skate bowl and braked in front of them. “Didn’t see you there!”

Dave raised an eyebrow. Since she had started doing tricks after they got closer, that was the biggest lie he had heard all day.

“And I didn’t see you either, but your radness has a distinctive frosty-fresh smell.” Terezi lifted her hand, and Latula bounded over to give it an airborne slap.

“C’mon, you too, time guy! Up top!” Latula rounded on Dave, who had to endure his own stinging high-five. The shock practically made his arm bones tremble, and he struggled to suppress a pain reaction. He looked to Terezi, who hadn’t flinched when Latula had delivered a nigh-sonic high five. But maybe she was clenching her teeth in that grin? “How’s it hanging, dudes?”

“Pretty chill, I guess,” Dave said. “Hung like a hammock between two frigid trees dropping cool berries down onto our chill-dizzy faces.”

Latula laughed. “That sounds way more than ‘pretty chill’ but I like it! Sounds like it’s on a beach, too. I always wondered if surfing was anything like skateboarding…”

“There’s bound to be some ocean around here!” Terezi told her. “LOLAR had one, LODAG basically was one, and LOFAF turned out to be one once the frost melted. You’ve got options.”

“Hellz yes! You wanna come with and watch me tackle the ocean?”

“How about you get your bearings, and then call us to show off when you’re catching waves like a pro?”

“Sounds nice, lil’ me.”

Terezi just smiled a little wider. Dave had to wonder if it bothered her to have Latula think of her as a younger copy of herself. She didn’t act like it bothered her, though frankly Terezi acted like lots of things didn’t bother her. Still, Dave could think of worse people to hang with, since Karkat had stood him up.

Wait, stood him up?

“We were actually wondering, have you heard anything about us around the dreambubbles?”

“What, like gossip?”

“Kinda. I’m just trying to figure out how much relative temporal memory has passed between you and us since we last spoke.”

“Ohhh, I get you,” Latula nodded. “Let’s see, I think Kankri was whining about peanut butter shoved in his mouth? But that was the last big dealio I heard about you guys. Still, sick prank! I don’t usually go for that kind of stuff but you got Kankles _good_.”

“That was months ago from our perspective,” Dave said. “Any chance you heard we were looking into Beforus ancestors?”

“Right, that too!”

“Why isn’t that more interesting than peanut butter mouth pranks?”

“Because, long-winded stories about ancient paradoxical events are all the rage around here. The dreambubbles are pretty much the only place where all the details of the stable time loops can get pieced together. But all that is all a total snooze! So you’re learning about Beforus. You can barely step outside without tripping over someone who wants to talk. But when there’s some _action_ in the bubble rumors, that’s what gets my pan sizzling.” Latula raised her hand again. “I think I owe you another high five for being part of that masterpiece…”

“Yeah, gimmie a rain check,” Dave said, keeping his hands in his knightly pajama pockets. Like he’d willingly endure such hand-based pain twice in one dream. He needed those to mix music with.

“Would you mind us picking your pan a bit about all of the boring ancestor stuff for a minute?” Terezi brought up the subject.

“Wait, so talking about like… you as my ancestor?”

“Don’t worry about that, we already know quite a bit about the brilliant Vigilant Lawscale.” Terezi balanced her cane on its tip and then rested her chin and hands on the top like a self-satisfied cat. “Her story is quite fascinating, and we've have a lot of leads to help us find out more about her story. I can tell you about it, if you’re ever interested.”

“What was it the lil' dude said? Rain check? Because I think I want one of those too.”

“Suit yourself! The first thing I’d want to ask about is culling. So Meenah’s ancestor is the one who started culling as you knew it, and then it evolved over the centuries too. We heard from Kankri that sometimes it involved some pretty sick stuff.”

“Who were you talking to that said that? Kankri might have been exaggerating again.”

“No, it was Rufioh. Kanaya and Karkat talked to him about when he was a wiggler and cullers tried to keep him from flying by putting weights on his legs, for his own safety.”

Latula laughed, a bit too loudly, considering that Terezi hadn’t said anything remotely funny. “Yep, that sounds like the culling system!”

“So it was always like that for you?”

“Sort of? I never gave it that much of a thought, since I never needed culling.”

“What about your nose-blindness? When did that happen?”

“Huh?”

“When did you lose your sense of smell?”

"I can’t exactly remember, it’s been like a million sweeps, dude.” Latula laughed again.

“Let’s narrow it down,” Dave jumped in. “Was it before or after your game session started?”

“Pretty sure it was before. Don’t hold me to that.”

“So that means there was a time when people might have thought you needed culling for lacking your sniffer, right?”

“I mean, yeah, if you’re all into hemo-whatever crap like Kankri is. But seriously, not being able to smell doesn’t slow me down! I got too much to do to worry about a thing like that!”

“Is that because you’re actually worried, or because they’d cull you if you ever showed that maybe you didn’t like lacking smell?” Dave pressed.

“Look, I really don’t want to be talking about this,” Latula told him. “I don’t know anything about culling because I was never culled, and I never got old enough to pick up cullees. It’s just never had any impact on me.”

“It’s okay, Latula, you’ve told us more than enough,” Terezi reassured her dancestor, which made Dave roll his eyes. It was a pretty useless gesture though, since everyone in attendance was wearing shades. “Actually, we do have troubles that are a lot worse than Beforus’s culling system.”

“Troubles? I thought you guys were between the frigid trees with the cool berries.”

“Nah, Vriska has us all enlisted in her personal boot camp—”

“Which is _fine_ ,” Terezi cut Dave off. “And not what I’m worried about. I was hoping you knew more about this, since you met our previous doomed selves in these bubbles.”

“Sure, I guess I can help.”

“It’s about Rose. She’s been really sick for a while, and she’s not acting like herself.”

“She’s human drunk is what she is,” Dave answered. “Was that really the big mystery that you had to go harassing your dancestor over?”

“Shush, Dave! That’s not the whole story!”

“Look, booze is just her way of joining us under the chill trees for a few months. That’s pretty much what kids are supposed to do when left unattended by any adults for long periods of time, they get wasted. But I guess trolls don’t know about that so much since you all had nanny monsters instead of parents. Did the nanny monsters ever care if you got wasted?”

“I said _shuuuush_!” Terezi repeated. “That’s still not what I’m worried about! It’s obvious that Rose is just performing some kind of acrobatic fucking aerial somersault into complete irresponsible negligence due to our long journey on the meteor. And it’s pretty obvious to anyone involved that those bottles are all the same kind that her human lusus used to drink that made her fall asleep in weird positions on almost any surface available. But our doomed selves made it all the way to the new session, and that’s what I needed to ask you about.”

Latula’s eyebrows were above her shades, a little bemused by the information dump. “Yeah, sure. I think I could scare up some answers for you.”

“What I really want to know is, will Rose stop fucking around in time for us to have our big last stand or whatever?”

“Oh, totally not,” Latula said.

“Woah, really? Just like that?” Dave really hadn't seen that answer coming.

“Pretty much. Like, everyone agrees that harping on all the differences between your doomed and present selves is a waste of everyone’s non-existent time, but Rose dropped all of the spherical objects when it came to getting herself ready to stand up to anyone.”

“So human soporifics are really that bad?” Terezi asked.

“What Rose used them for definitely was, hands down.”

“I’m very surprised that _certain_ humans among us did not already know that.” Terezi turned her face Dave’s way, another self-satisfied smile on her face.

“Oh, fuck you, I barely got sex ed before meteors started dropping like they were hot, which as flaming asteroids they pretty much were, and they had the human race dropping, but this time like flies. So, since death rocks from the Furthest Ring eliminated human civilization, I didn’t get to the part in school where they told me that beer is Satan’s piss or whatever. Plus, Rose’s mom always just seemed silly and harmless when Rose talked about her, and I've seen plenty other non-chemical ways that someone’s life can get fucking ruined.”

“Don’t worry your silly head about it, I’m just giving you a hard time because it’s hilarious!”

“Ahaha, Pyropes represent! Yeah!” Latula pumped her fist in the air.

“What can I say? I am just a proud schoolfeeder of dorky boys.”

“Fine, enough dragging me through the goddamn shitwringer over this. We now know that booze is bad, glad we all agree on that. Now how do we make her stop? Like, do we have to start babysitting her every hour of the day? And it’s also pretty clear that she’s alchemizing the stuff, so if she’s memorized the code it’s not like we can just destroy her supply.”

“Any recommendations on that, Latula?” Terezi turned to her dancestor again, who shrugged.

“I got nothing for you. We never faced anything like that on our team, and in the bubbles none of it matters. Maybe so long as you fix the other stuff that went totally sideways you won’t have to worry about it?”

“What kind of stuff went sideways?”

“Well, your Serket was dead, for one. Your Makara was running around being mega duplicitous. Dave and Nubby Shouts weren’t all macking on each other—”

“Slow down, slow down, _what_?!”

“For the last time, _shuuuuush_ and let her finish!”

“—And I never got a good read on this, but you were definitely not ready to kick shame globes,” Latula finished, pointing to Terezi. “You are _way_ radder to hang out with the way you are now, old you just stood around under trees with your dragon hoodie pulled down low and never spoke to anyone.”

“Oh.” Terezi made her mouth squiggle. “That sounds… weird of me.”

“Trust me, you guys had issues well beyond Lalonde’s favorite drink. But that’s all such a drag to talk about, seriously. Hey, maybe I can show off a new move I’ve been working on!”

“No, I want you to go back and say what you meant about macking on, Karkat and I do not—mack on—on anything, or anyone, that’s just not what bros do, and we’re just hanging out because the meteor sucks, okay?” Dave protested.

Latula just laughed at him. “Whatever you say, dude!”

“We can stop talking about doomed timelines and ambiguous relationship statuses since it seems to upset the coolkid so.” Terezi offered Dave a sarcastic, comforting pat on the shoulder that he tried to swat away. “Back on that other topic, are you _sure_ there’s nothing else of interest that you know about your ancestors?”

“I think I’ve heard some stuff, but it’s all so boring and nerdy and I don’t have any time for that noise!”

“Well, maybe some of it could be of interest. Did you know that Cronus’s ancestor was the Betrayer?”

“Woah, seriously? I thought he was just a grub’s tale!”

“Serious as a culling mandate. And we even met his ghost!”

“Oh my god, no way!”

“Way! He was dramatic and kind of an asshole, and Karkat had a sickle-duel with him that he almost won, but the old codfish cheated. Then he started acting really chummy, so it’s pretty certain that he and Karkat—or, Kankri’s ancestor—were pretty tight.”

“Man, Kanks would throw a shitfit if he knew about that!”

“When do Vantases _not_ throw shitfits?”

“No, seriously! Cronus is just so opposed to pretty much everything Kankri tries to be. From social justice to that celibacy vow, I think the only thing they have in common is how much they like to talk. And if you gave Cronus any ammunition for some kind of connection in the ancient past, you’d totally set him off on a serendipity quest to rekindle whatever the hell was going on.”

“We don’t even think there’s a quadrant involved. At least, not between the Vantas and Amporan ancestors. The _stories_ we’ve found…” Terezi let her eyebrows bounce suggestively.

“Oh, spill the legumes already! Who boxed up with who?”

“You’re really gonna draw it out like that? This is stupid,” Dave interjected. “I’m just gonna sum it up for you. See this all starts with—”

“Latula? Fancy seeing you here! Bee-neigh-while!”

Dave groaned as another busybody ghost entered the conversation. This time, Horuss had to stick his weird long face into this. Dave had only endured a few conversation with any member of the Zahhak bloodline, but he had to say they pretty much all ranked as the absolute worst, from Equius’s slam poetry to Horuss somehow insisting he was an actual horse.

“Hey, ponyboy, how’s it hanging?” Latula greeted him, and prepped another high five in his direction. When it connected, Horuss seemed unaffected, while Latula suppressed a shock of pain. So that rumored freakish strength offered him some hand-slap protection after all.

“I canter complain! The bubbles are a fine a place to stable ourselves as ever. I had made some plans with Rufioh, but I haven’t yet been able to find him. Have you by any chance seen him?”

“Can’t say I have, bro. There’s a real shortage of Rogues around here.”

“Oh, phoo.” Horuss answered that with a dissonant grin. “Do you know where he might be?”

“I don’t know. Have you tried finding his dancestor? Nitram-ette seems to be finding ghosts we didn’t even know existed in this place.”

“An excellent suggestion! Thank you, Latula!”

“In fact, maybe Dave can help you search!” Terezi jumped in. “It’s become quite apparent that this conversation is getting boring to him, so we’ll just have our girl talk over here and you can explore the dreambubbles!”

“Sounds good! We’ll see you two dudes later!”

“Wait, Terezi, no—!”

But it was too late. The Pyropes walked off together, Latula insisting that Terezi get back to the story while the Seer seemed determined to drag out the juicy details for as long as possible. Dave would have to get Terezi back for this somehow. Maybe if he practiced really hard, his next batch of Earth candy would come out tasting like dirt and farts. Surely even the esteemed legislacerator would find that this bullshit was a revengeable offense.


	4. A Need for Escape

_Eridan could see improvements in the situation aboard the_ Absolution, _but those improvements did not hint at solutions. The students learned their seamanship, but felt resentment toward the hard work assigned to them. Everyone aboard knew each other well enough for everyone to name everyone else, but that mysterious troll disease called friendship did not blossom. And, the Chimeric was improving_ — _he spent full nights on the deck now, working alongside his followers_ — _but something had died. Trust? Faith? Hope?_

_Yes. When he happened on the word, Eridan felt positive that hope had been destroyed. Eridan had no idea what to do to bring it back. Positivity had always been the Compasse’s strong suit, not his._

_As they arrived at their next destination, the cove was more forgiving and easier to navigate, even with a batch of sailors even more inexperienced than last time. He scanned the terrain surrounding their new safe haven, noting how this northern region of Beforus had far more trees and mountains. Eridan suspected those could be used for some good, long-term cover, but taking the whole company of trolls deep into those mountains would mean abandoning the_ Absolution _. Surely the Chimeric didn’t think that resource had outlived its usefulness, did he?_

_Going ashore took more trips than last time, due to the increased population and the need to bring more supplies. Some of the heavy tyrian flags that Eridan used to fly were to be repurposed as tents for the new recruits. Traps would need to be laid and gathering parties dispatched immediately if everyone wanted to eat that night. Like a reflex, Eridan could feel himself bracing to skip his own rations, which was a rule of etiquette under the Compasse’s jurisdiction. The Chimeric would probably yell some sense into him over that assumption… if he looked to be in the mood to yell at anyone at all._

_As the trolls set up their rebel camp, the Chimeric passed around a quiet word and requested a meeting with a few of his established followers. Eridan accepted, and found himself in the presence of the Mirthful and Tameless—obviously—but also the Captain, the Deadbeat, and a few others that Eridan recognized as their best and brightest._

_“I won’t keep you long,” the Chimeric told the group. “I can no longer deny that my leadership at this moment is not as strong as it needs to be. I know my current weakness is temporary, it simply must be, but temporary and brief are not the same thing. I need to take action so I can be the same troll you all chose to follow and honor my promise to you all. In order for that to happen… I need to leave.”_

_“What do you mean, leave?” the Deadbeat asked._

_“Precisely what the word implies. I will be gone for a time, and then I will return.”_

_“How long?”_

_“…Temporarily.”_

_“But not briefly.”_

_“No.”_

_“What should we do in the meantime?” the Tameless said, changing the subject in a more productive direction._

_“Bring the new recruits up to speed in survivalism. Combat training, basic or advanced depending on the student. Perhaps some platoon drills would be in order, if you please, Seafarer?”_

_Eridan nodded, but his arms stayed firmly folded. All of his experience and sensibilities told him that an absence was the worst thing the Chimeric could choose to do, but since he had no better suggestions and the Chimeric appeared to have already reasoned out short- and long-term gain, he kept his mouth shut._

_“What should we tell them about why you’re gone?” the Captain asked._

_“I… Huh.” The Chimeric hadn’t gotten that far apparently. Quite unlike him, the scarlet schemer who always had a plan to make what he wanted happen. “Um… let’s stick to something understandable. I’m going to seek the chimera.”_

_“The what?” one other troll said, unfamiliar with the now-legendary flipping of shit._

_“A magical creature who gave me a prophecy after my titling day. I don’t actually think I’ll meet it again, not here. But it’s the easiest way to explain what I’m doing.”_

_“If you have to go, then there’s nothing else to say about it,” the Deadbeat shrugged. “So, you leaving now, or later?”_

_“Tomorrow evening, I think. And there’s one more thing.” He turned to the Mirthful and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You need to stay.”_

_The disgraced clown’s eyes widened, the triangular fangs in his improvised makeup creating sharp shadows around the expression. “What?”_

_“I mean it. They will need you here. And I need you here.”_

_“Little bro, you can’t be expecting me to sit on my motherfucking posterior and watch you go out into the wilderness on your own. Don’t ask that of me, please.”_

_“I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought there was another way. Trust me.” The Mirthful looked unconvinced, and the Chimeric added, “I’ll explain more later?”_

_“I second that,” Eridan interjected, just to make this pitiful display stop. “By tomorrow sundown we’ll all be agreed to let you go, and hold pattern for your return. Any other orders?”_

_The Chimeric shook his head. “No orders, just requests. Stay strong. Help each other. Have hope.”_

Hope, hm? _If only the Chimeric had asked for anything else. Then they might have had a fighting chance._

 

* * *

 

Why did the dreambubbles need an entire lineage of horse-fuckers. How they even ended up with more than one, Dave had no idea. Paradox Space had played sicker jokes on him before. He doubted it had any intention of stopping now. Unfortunate, how someone as friendly as Horuss could come across as probably the most disgusting dancestor of all, just because of his vocal desire to be a goddamn horse.

“So, I hope you weren’t actually hoping for me to help you or anything, because I have no idea where Peter Fuckboy Pan is either,” Dave told him as they left the memory of Derse for parts unknown and unknowable.

“Oh, I wasn't about to saddle you with the task of finding him instantly. I just hoped that you would accompany me on the trail!”

“…Great. Then. I guess I’m just, here. To trail.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my phantom equine heart.” As Horuss and Dave fell into step, the landscape started shifting from Derse to a crumbling Battlefield, though whose battlefield was anyone’s guess. Dave had to be a little grateful that he was at least asleep, so he had a guaranteed return to the meteor no matter how far Horuss led him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, so long as Horuss didn’t talk to him.

“So, what were our two Pyropes discussing before I inserted myself?” Horuss asked.

God. Dammit.

“Uh, ancestors, basically,” Dave said.

“How exciting! Rumors that your herd has taken an interest in Beforan history reached my ears, and filled me with pride-induced glee.”

“That’s a huge exaggeration, Seabiscuit. It’s more like we want to learn about all the stuff that pertains exactly to us, and nothing else.”

“That’s a wise approach, narrowing your field to start. I am certain you will find friends willing to expand on other topics that have bridled your curiosity, once you are ready.”

“How about you, do you know anything about ancestors? Who was Big Daddy Za-hizzle on Beforus?”

Horuss laughed, a nasal sound that Dave suspected had been carefully practiced to imitate a horse’s whinny. “As always, your speech is peculiar to the point of incomprehensible! But if I correctly understand you, yes, I was aware of my ancestor, from around the age of five.”

“Did you crack the troll time capsule and get a pre-recorded message from your alien dad, like from some kind of god-awful movie John would probably be really into?”

“Not in the slightest. I inherited his thesis.”

“Thesis?”

“My ancestor was a Guardian, a _strong_ and noble culler sworn to the protection of all Beforus. Entry into that order requires completing a thesis, which is presented to the individual believed to be that troll’s descendant centuries later. That way they can understand what their predecessor accomplished and then go on to finish the work they started.”

“So they gave you his thesis when you were five?” Dave imagined a five-year-old troll dwarfed by some huge boring book written centuries before his birth. Wait, but Horuss was probably giving his age in sweeps. Updating that image to an eleven-year-old didn’t make the picture much less absurd.

“Of course! I read it very thoroughbreadly. Guardian Trueshot had created an extremely well-researched aggregation text about the documented abilities of trolls across a multitude of bloodlines, and identified new key ways that the nobility could improve the station of the warmer classes. I also discovered he spent his life constructing impressive edifices, still standing nearly fifteen hundred sweeps later! He quite literally created stables, and stability, for hundred of broods of helpless BUOYs.”

Dave nodded, committing the name ‘Trueshot’ to memory, but not caring much about the actual shit from his thesis. They continued to walk, and the Battlefield gave way to rivers of flame and a very squishy-feeling floor: LOBAF. “So did you want to become a Guardian after that?”

“Yes, absolutely. When I was alive, there was no greater joy than the knowledge that I would be filling my pre-ordained role. Horsenestly, I had already been pursuing such a goal all along by cultivating my talents and interests to match flawlessly with future expectations. Receiving my ancestor’s thesis merely confirmed all I had known before.”

“So knowing what you do about original recipe horseman, what do you think of Equius?”

“That's a difficult topic, much like attempting to insert a piston into an engine without sufficient lubricant.” Dave choked back a bit of rising bile as Horuss continued. “My dancestor never had a chance to inhabit his rightful place in the Alternian social order, but we two were faced with some very fascinating parallels. For example, while it is a common fact that the hemospectrum has a tremendous influence on our abilities, certain stirrups among my team wanted to toss it out completely!”

Horuss interrupted himself with another bout of whinnying laughter. Something about not judging people for their blood colors sounded like a joke to him. Dave waited for him to continue as he contemplated grabbing an errant memory-brain and shoving it in his stupid overalls.

“Anyway, my expression against that attitude was shot down repeatedly by those more blinkered than I until it became ultimately pointless to continue trotting out my opinion. Then on Equius’s team, where Alternian tradition would have permitted him to use horrifying violence against all those who opposed him, he actually lived quite a docile life. I have yet to find a single ghost of his responsible for harming another troll, across a multitude of timelines.”

“There’s other ways to harm people,” Dave said, thinking of the terrible rap about some kind of zoological orgy that had assailed his chat client years ago. “But what about the other way around? Has Equius changed what you think about your ancestor?”

“Oh, definitely not. I don’t hold anything against Equius for not living up to my ancestor’s legacy. It’s clear that sweat alone could not elevate Equius to join the _strong_ est members of troll society, by either the Beforan or Alternian tradition. With time, training, and a proper social education, I am positive he would have risen to the challenge—which Trueshot did.”

“…Cool.” What else was Dave supposed to say to that? Horuss had his own shit pretty sorted out as far as his involvement with the ancient past. Dave knew he should probably be asking more questions of him, but after such a long hiatus he couldn’t come up with anything he needed to ask about. “Hey, any chance you know other people’s titles?”

“Other than our radiant Empress’s, you mean? I am aware of the magnificent tale of the Huntsman, lowblood hero and martyr and impressive equestrian. Rufioh has an ancestor almost as noble and lovely as he is.”

“Okay, I’m gonna draw the line at your sex life,” Dave told him firmly. “What about Damara’s ancestor? We haven’t been able to pin down anything about her.”

“Damara and I are actually very terrible at communicating with one another, due mostly to the language barrier presented by her coarse speech, so I’m afraid I canter tell you much.”

“Okay… um, what about… dammit, I’m trying to think of the questions.” Dave ran his hand through his hair, wondering if that counted as scratching his head, and if that improved his ability to think. “Oh, wait, duh, so all descendants of Guardians got to have their ancestor’s thesis thing. So what about the Chimeric and Kankri?”

Horuss actually paused, and for once his perpetual smile was interrupted by a look of surprise. “I’m… rather surprised that you know about the Chimeric!”

“That’s me, Dave ‘Surprise’ Strider, full of all kinds of stunning revelations that completely blow the plebs away. So you’ve heard of Karmeric?”

“Yes, anyone aspiring to join the Guardians as an adult must have an introduction to the staggering damage caused when the order attempted to allow less civilized hues into their throng. Though the larger rebellion following was so obviously the work of the Betrayer, since only another royal could have opposed the Compasse so effectively, the order essentially barred anyone below indigo from joining in the centuries following. Only in very recent history did cerulean candidates begin to prove themselves worthy again. Well, before meteors killed everyone.”

Why this. Why did he have to be here doing this. Dave had mountains of evidence to the contrary for almost everything Horuss said, and even not being a troll, Dave felt proxy-offended by all the horseshit dropping out of his horse mouth. The only real comfort here was that Horuss was a long-dead ghost who, according to all his teammates, basically never amounted to anything of consequence in the first place. Still, no matter how impotent, awful was awful.

“So what did you think of Kankri when you met him? He was your team’s leader after all.”

“I don’t have any problem with Kankri. His leadership was a necessary compromise between people unwilling to follow our radiant heiress Meenah due to trivial complaints like dangerous temperament, backstabbing, and theft of personal property. Those of our number who flat-out refused to play under her magnanimous rule decided to join in when Kankri became the leader. Then again, Kankri’s brand of leadership consisted almost exclusively of very lengthy memos and insufferable monologues, so Meenah ended up spurring our team’s progress anyway.”

Horuss laughed again, and lifted his goggles to let some tears drain out of the lenses. Or at least, Dave hoped it was tears.

“My apologies, I don’t think I gave your question appropriate dressage. That is to say, I had feared Kankri would be as irrational and unreasonable as his ancestor, but found myself pleasantly surprised by his passive approach. Perhaps as a Seer of Blood he ‘saw’ that using anything more than words as a riding crop to our flanks would be counter-productive.”

“What about that thesis thing you mentioned before? If Karmeric became a Guardian, then he wrote one. Do you think they gave it to Kankri?”

“Obviously not! That document was classified as seditious and therefore banned. The Guardians surely destroyed all copies of it as well, to remove the crimson stain from their otherwise pure order.”

“Great, even more censorship,” Dave muttered. As if their range of primary sources wasn’t narrow enough.

“Keep your chin up, Dave,” Horuss told him jovially. “Just remember, all is meaningless in the end!”

“What?”

“This is a bit of wisdom I’ve acquired since my demise, and I can tell it’s wisdom because it hurts almost unbearably to know, but: truly, all that we consider to be existent reality is completely futile in the end! Life succumbs to death, and the dead succumb to erasure, and all that constituted matter is destroyed and destroyed again until a rock becomes pebbles that become sand that becomes particles that become atoms, so infinitely divided that you can’t even comprehend that it was ever a rock to begin with! When you take a moment to test your senses and realize how inadequate they are for perceiving things that exist you can’t even say that they existed in the first place!”

“Woah, _what_? Dude, what the hell are—”

“And I think I’ve gathered how people can confuse existence and emptiness. From my contemplation, I was able to nose beneath my own persona to discover the truth of the majestic hoofbeast within my heart. And then I was able to find further multitudes inside of myself, because all of existence is present in the void and all of the void is present in my existence!”

“Okay, stop, stop, shove a stirrup in it! Jegus!”

Horuss finally paused, distracted by Dave’s equestrian error. “...Stirrups don’t go in the mouth… you silly non-horse.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit, sorry. And I get that you’ve been in touch with your voidy side, but I don’t need your emo lectures on the nature of emptiness. Just… shut up. Please.”

“I do not appreciate your behoovior toward me, you utterly inferior person—”

Before Dave had a chance to say anything, the environment of the dreambubble around him popped and he woke on one of the meteor’s couches, surrounded by odd comic pages and staring up at the angry face of one Vriska Serket, obviously pissed that he had been sleeping instead of training.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded.

“Oh, thank god,” Dave answered.


	5. Die/Kill

Rose knew what it felt like to die. And that had nothing to do with how many bottles of wine she had polished off. No, she knew what death felt like because she had died at the hands of Jack when in her grimdark throes, then again when she and Dave had piloted the moon of Derse and an enormous planet-sized tumor-bomb in order to set it to detonate in a massive explosion resulting in the birth of the largest stellar entity in all of Paradox Space. As death-memories went, those must count as pretty spectacular. But those experiences had failed to reveal an important part of the process.

Now she knew what it felt like to be dying.

She still felt positive that alcohol poisoning could not kill a god tier. That would be too stupid and pointless a way to die. She mused that inebriation could possibly sway which fatal actions could be considered heroic or just, though she never got very far on solving that mystery. But, even knowing this would not kill her did not ease how much the deterioration of her own body _hurt_. Her hands shook, she lost her balance even when sober, and her stomach felt raw and queasy almost all the time. Often too nauseous to eat, Rose would sip water—but more frequently wine—to try and take the edge off. She felt more comfortable in the dark now too, since the areas of the meteor they had consciously attempted to brighten up as a way to improve livability on the inhospitable hunk of rock now felt like stabbing a pair of knives in her eye sockets. So, she hung back in the shadows like some sort of monster.

Sobriety made her feel monstrous. At least when she was drunk she couldn’t see how much of what she did was so utterly disgusting.

She had wanted everything to stop, and she'd gotten her wish. Being inebriated was like flooding a clock with molasses, all of the delicate machinery suspended in an opaque and viscous liquid. And eventually, it drained away, but she still felt traces of its presence, like crusts around the gears, and she had enough power to make the gears turn but understood they weren’t working _right_ and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing but flood it again and pretend for a little longer that everything was fine.

Kanaya was still… speaking with her. At least. Nice to know that they could still maintain some sort of approximation of friendship while Vriska stole away all Rose's hope of someone reciprocating feelings she held. Or the fantasy of actually contributing something important to the new session. Or the possibility of ever becoming someone her mom would be proud of. Oh, who was she kidding, her mom had offered her martinis on a number of occasions, apparently forgetting that her pre-teen daughter should not consume alcohol. She’d just raise a glass to Rose for them to sloppily toast.

What was the point again? Right. Kanaya. Beautiful, bright Kanaya, who literally hurt to look at now. Even with her great strides in controlling her luminescence, the slightest glow triggered Rose’s photosensitivity and forced her to look away. It was easier when drunk, and she really enjoyed herself with Kanaya as alcohol swept through her body with pleasant warmth and silliness, but then sobriety set in. And Rose would remember how much of an ass she had acted like in front of Kanaya. Smirks were actually grimaces, jokes weren’t funny, secrets spilled too easily, and Rose hated herself for all of it. And that meant more drinking. Just to make the clock stop for a little while longer.

Escapism, that was the word for this. Any method possible to remove Rose’s self from her present situation, if not physically then mentally. Maybe the meteor itself had served to facilitate escapism for some time, with its removal from the ordinary flow of space-time and hence the subsequent danger. After a day packed with manipulating computer interfaces, escaping a forest fire, arriving on a mystic planet, and creating an arsenal of dubiously magical properties—and that was _before_ everything had gone completely off the rails.

 _Thunk_.

Rose rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. _Not so loud_ …

_Thunk thunk._

Oh shit, did this mean she had fallen asleep in a common room? Someplace other people could find and disturb her, or perhaps, be disturbed by her?

_Thunk thunk thunk._

Rose squirmed again to try and get the corners of her pillow to cover her ears as well.

“Lalonde, if I don’t see some significant evidence that you are awake, I will be forced to drub your skull instead of the couch.” Terezi’s voice shoved a railway spike between Rose’s frontal lobes.

Her mouth was dry, sticky, and she could barely make it move, but she managed to groan, “Why?”

“Because you missed out on an amazing opportunity to read some very big dusty books! We really could have used your brain. And your eyesight.”

“Oh,” Rose managed. “…Sorry.”

She felt the couch near her feet jostle as Terezi bombastically plopped down next to her. “So, what were you dreaming about, Miss Cantaloupe Robes?”

Her dream…? What had she been dreaming about? God, she felt like it was important, somehow, sort of. Or at least something she would have wanted to remember as opposed to forget. She had a sinking feeling that, due to her previous experiences with intoxicated slumber and the dreams it provoked, she had been dreaming about her mother. “I can’t recall.”

“Can you really not remember, or do you simply want to be a mysterious keeper of the arcane knowledges contained in your dreams?” Rose didn’t have to see her to know she was smiling.

“No, I don’t want that. And I don’t remember.”

“Awww… Can you at least sit up and talk to me? Your words are getting kind of muffled by that pillow.”

Rose gave it her best effort, and though she succeeded at putting herself upright, she could not bear to open her eyes. “It’s too bright in here.”

“I’ll go turn off the lights.”

“Are you sure? Then you won’t be able to—”

“—To see? You’re too late on that one, Rose.”

She massaged her temples and kept her eyes shut as the ambient light visible through her eyelids extinguished. “Right. Forgot.”

“What’s got you so down? You’ve barely said two dozen words to me when usually you’d be at two hundred by now.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You were in a great mood last I saw you. Man, you and the Mayor were having a real rumpusfest! I think you got in a competition to see who could funnel as much burgundy liquid into your talk gullets as possible.”

Oh god, oh fuck, that had actually happened. She had provided alcohol to the dear, sweet, innocent Mayor! “Where is he?”

“I think he’s back in Can Town, maybe with the boys now.”

“Was he okay?”

“Absolutely! Carapacians seem capable of ingesting literally anything. I think I’ve witnessed him eat actual whole nutrition cylinders before. Not just the contents, but the whole can.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief. So she hadn’t given another resident of the meteor alcohol poisoning.

“But, from your comment concerning the health of the Mayor, I can very reasonably deduce that, in spite of your insistence that these liquids are normal to consume, they actually do present a danger to yourself and others. Is that true?”

Why was this conversation happening? What would it take to make this conversation stop happening? “Only if I drive.”

“I seem to recall that this started being a thing that you did after we spoke with that lovely doomed Nepeta. Was there perhaps something in that conversation that made you want to repeatedly ingest strange liquids that make you look like a dumbass all the time?”

Who cared what Terezi thought? Rose certainly shouldn’t. But Terezi was right, she looked like a dumbass, she was a disgrace, and she wanted a drink… “That sure is a sentence you just said.”

“Look, I’m the Seer of Mind, not the Reader of Mind. What’s your deal anyway?”

“I don’t have a deal.”

“We all have our deal. Some of us are simply aware of what it is. I would speculate that yours either has something to do with the way Kanaya knew about her Beforan self and didn’t tell you, or that history included her and Vriska in the throes of matespritship. Which is it?”

Rose flinched. Those two reasons in conjunction summed up a lot of the trouble with Kanaya right now.

“Do you feel like a romance between them is some sort of foregone conclusion?”

“Isn’t everything? With all of the time loops and paradoxical origins of consequential circumstances, literally everything is known at all times.”

“By you?”

“By… something.”

“Skaia?”

“Sure.”

“Knowing everything never really did Skaia much good.”

“Your point being?”

“Maybe it’s possible to know too much.”

“Of course it’s possible to know too much. That isn’t a revolutionary concept.”

“That’s true, but what is the purpose of knowledge?”

“I don’t know?”

“Can you try guessing?”

A sensation of déja vu dawned on her, so Rose scrunched up her face extra-hard to determine if this was a conversation she and Terezi had already had, or if there was something else going on. She couldn’t feel any of the telltale signals of dreambubble-ness. So, this conversation was reminding her of something…

Ah yes. Of a condescending being of omniscience and omnipotence who wrote in white text.

“I’m really not in the mood for a guessing game,” Rose said. At least when she and her ‘informant’ used to riddle things out, she hadn’t been nursing a hangover at the same time.

“How about something you don’t already know?”

Fed up, Rose curled her knees up to support her forehead and muttered into her legs, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Just a little factoid that you might not have considered.”

“Terezi. What the fuck is it.”

“Could you ask a little nicer, Miss Citrus Sunburst?”

“Could you quit acting like the embodiment of my headache?”

“Fine, I suppose I can humor you just this once,” Terezi said. “Kanaya would go on a date with you if you just asked.”

Rose felt her face get hot, and gratefully continued burying it in her knees. “So that’s your factoid?”

“Yes. And allow me to support it with some critical evidence. Exhibit A, Vriska has absolutely no interest in any kind of relationship with her. Exhibit B, pretty much any trait Vriska possesses that Kanaya would find attractive is something you do too.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Kanaya likes dangerous ladies! Our lovely Light players fit the bill, what with your track records of terrible, awful, fatal schemes with narrow margins of success.”

“Thanks. Thanks for that.”

“I’m just stating the facts, your Lightyness. But exhibit C is that I’ve never smelled Kanaya glow with such snow-blinding delight than when you and she are together. She’s into you, Rose. So what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m more interested in why you think it’s any of your business.”

“It might have something to do with the fact that, while we have been speaking, I have been furiously messaging Kanaya a somewhat fictionalized account of this very conversation, where I may have implied that you have grubbed up the courage to ask her a very important and romantic question, and that she should make her way here as fast as her rainbow-drinker legs can take her.”

A chill broke out on the back of her neck. “You didn’t.”

“Take a look.”

Rose lifted her face and cracked her eyes open in Terezi’s direction. The lights were still off, but the glow of a palmhusk on her knee, spattered with teal and jade text, proved it true.

“It’s so much easier to read my screen in low light, since all the other colors are dulled,” Terezi said with a face-splitting grin.

Rose scrambled for a plan, her splitting head hindering the process. “What if I message her right now and tell her you’re lying?”

“Then that would break her poor undead heart, and I don’t think you want that.” Terezi stood up and stretched tall, before stowing the palmhusk away. “I don’t really care what you do from here, but if you leave this room without asking Kanaya Maryam on a date, then infuriating conversations with me during your headache time will be the least of your worries. Are we basically clear?”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you even care?”

“Look, a gal like me has to maintain sharp investigation skills in order to present the most accurate evidence possible. Why not do so in a fashion that lets her precious friends achieve romantic satisfaction? You get a date, Kanaya can stop pining after you, and I can secure another feather for my top legislacerator cap!”

“So this is all a game to you? Like when you and Vriska competed in a cold proxy-war using Dave and John?” Rose managed to laugh a little. “How did that turn out for you? Dave is pretty good, but in terms of unprecedented power, it sounds like John won in the end.”

“Shut up, that has nothing to do with this, I’m out,” Terezi said, and she walked toward the transportalizer to leave. “And Kanaya will be here in fifteen minutes and counting, so you better get in your best date-requesting shape or face the consequences!”

With that, Terezi vanished. The decision awaiting Rose finally settled in and made her already queasy stomach churn. She wasn’t ready. What was she going to say? What would Kanaya think? Terezi seemed certain the request would be favorably received, but what if Rose made a fool of herself again? What if Kanaya thought she was a dumbass after all?

Her hand reached for something, clenching, until she found it. A brown bottle with just one more swig in it. She lifted it to her mouth and the taste of whiskey hit her tongue. She would have preferred wine, but what she needed now was the hair of the dog. She had fourteen minutes before her life either healed or died.

 

* * *

 

_Sollux fueled his power into the four-wheeled vehicle’s engine on total autopilot. It barely consumed even a fraction of his power or attention. The ingenuity of the API and its many protégées was on full display here, allowing something to be so efficiently and effortlessly moved with psionic energy, but he had no idea if the Benevole appreciated it. Then again, it wasn’t her job to appreciate technological breakthroughs. And it technically wasn’t Sollux’s job to supervise anyone other than the approximately two-thousand one hundred eighty-nine goldbloods of the communal hivestems. But here he was, driving a vehicle, and there she was, sitting in it._

_Whoop de fucking doo._

_The confirmation had come through about an hour ago that Trueshot was back in his hive and able to receive the Benevole. Sollux could have easily sent some other cluster of goldbloods, and there were surely a dozen willing volunteers in the hive, but he had something on his mind that computers could not take off._

_As the manor hive came into view, Sollux and the Benevole maintained their awkward but polite silence until they arrived at the door. He stopped the crackle of psychic electricity into the engine and exited the vehicle, tugging on his coat to make sure it laid flat after his journey. But why did he care about that. It was stupid. Trueshot knew what he looked like. It didn’t matter. He tugged on his sleeves again, doubly-sure now they were straight._

_When he turned to the door, he heard someone rapping on the glass of the vehicle, and turned to see the Benevole still seated in the back. What was her deal? Did she need him to open the door for her? Well, sucks to suck, lady, he wasn’t her retainer!_

_She tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. Sollux had locked her in. Fucking perfect. He placed a hand on the vehicle’s exterior and let a single tendril of power arc through the metal and jostle the lock enough to disengage it. The Benevole tried again and successfully exited the contraption._

_“Sorry,” he mumbled to her._

_“I suppose you are not accustomed to ferrying trolls of other colors,” the Benevole said. “It’s a simple mistake to forgive.”_

_“Right. Thanks.”_

_She hadn’t been living with Trueshot for very long, but the Benevole opened the hive door and stepped inside like it was her own abode, placing her shoes near the door and hanging her coat on an empty peg between two full ones, clearly a favorite._

_“Since I have made use of your hospitality, I would be happy to reciprocate while you wait for the Guardian to finish,” the Benevole offered._

_“I’m fine, don’t worry.”_

_“You know that he will insist.”_

_“...Fine, okay. Water and grubscuit, or whatever resembles that the most.”_

_The Benevole nodded and left down a hallway. Sollux had only seen a few parts of this hive: a researchblock, a consumptionblock, a loungeblock. He followed his memory to the loungeblock and found a loveseat to sit on. He remembered sitting here with the Delegation in full, hashing out the minutia of culling standards and how the API planned to compensate for the efforts of higher-blooded cullers. Soulstar had sat over there, between the two leaves of her auspisticism, and Trueshot had sat there, in his sturdy armchair…_

_Sollux looked around the room again, feeling something was amiss. All the furniture pieces looked the same, but it felt like they had been moved just slightly. Like everything had been pushed to the side and then put back inexactly. What had happened here? Did Trueshot try redecorating but suddenly remembered he hated any and all change?_

_The Benevole arrived with a tray of refreshments at the same time Trueshot stepped through another door. The blueblood hung back while she placed a tray on a low table and then excused herself._

_“I was not expecting you, Delegate,” Trueshot said, taking a seat in that huge fucking chair for his ridiculous over-muscled body._

_“Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt.” Sollux bit his lip, but dropped it, remembering it was a bad habit he shouldn’t do in front of people who already couldn’t tell the difference between him and a grub. “How was the memorial?”_

_“Respectful. It was quite touching to see the number of lives the Stalwart improved in his span.”_

_“Any leads on those greenbloods who ran away the night he died?”_

_“Not yet. They will be found, but finding them is not my responsibility.”_

_Sollux fell silent. He remembered the frantic instant-message conversation he'd had with the Chimeric. Sollux had tracked him to Kenna. He knew the Chimeric was recruiting. He had said nothing, and now someone was dead. This was like the aftermath of the Mournful’s abuse scandal all over again._ If only I had done something.

_But what could he have done? Some part of him, a large enough part that he couldn’t ignore it, wanted the Chimeric to succeed. There was a greater force at play here, but Sollux couldn’t tell if the Stalwart’s death was fated or accidental._

_“...How are you doing?”_

_Trueshot frowned at Sollux. “I am fine. Why do you ask?”_

_“Because the Stalwart was a Guardian like you, so I’m assuming you knew him pretty well. At least better than most of the people whose lives he touched and whatever else he did. So how do you feel?”_

_The Guardian stared at him for a minute. “I am… not pleased.”_

_Sollux couldn’t help snorting. “Yeah? I don’t think anyone is ‘pleased.’ But what else?”_

_“This is not the first time I have heard of a Guardian’s death. Sometimes they die of old age. Sometimes they die protecting others. We are all prepared to lay down our lives for those who lack our_ strength _.”_

_“So you think he knew he could die, if he fought the Chimeric?”_

_“I do not believe he expected to die. But I believe he was prepared to.”_

_“Are you prepared to die, too?”_

_Trueshot nodded. “Always.”_

_Sollux didn’t know what to say to that. He imagined Trueshot taking the Stalwart’s place. And he imagined the Chimeric there as well, dying instead of killing. That felt like something the renegade Guardian was ready to do. Ever since Sollux had introduced the two, he thought they had nothing in common but stuffy intellectual words. He’d have to add their awareness of mortality to that short list._

_But Sollux couldn’t forget what the Chimeric_ did.

_“Please do not worry, Twinhorn. The structure of the API means you are not required to make the same sacrifice.”_

_“I’m not worrying,” he insisted. “I’m… curious.”_

_“About what subject?”_

_“How you tolerate it. Not just the knowledge you’re going to die, but the idea someone might kill you. Or the idea that anyone has killed anyone, ever. Beforus has seen murderers before. If we hopped on over to the nearest detainment hive, we’d find one or two. How can you tolerate that?”_

_“Because they have been sentenced and are serving their punishment.”_

_“Yeah, but how do you determine punishments and crimes? How much awful does someone have to do before you stand up and... make them stop?”_

_“This appears to be a question better suited to your former culler. I am not concerned with what is just. It is my duty to protect those lesser than me, and I gladly serve.”_

_“Whatever.” The mention of Lawscale added a new ache in his heart on top of the others, and it drained the argumentative spirit out of him. “I just… don’t understand how you live with it. If you had been there with your bow, you could’ve put an arrow in his skull before he ever swung a sickle. How do you tolerate that?”_

_“Such a ludicrous scenario would be more complex than you are implying. Please excuse my harsh language.” Trueshot almost sounded angry for a second there. “I do not stand by while the rebels wreak havoc because I support them or wish for their continued existence. I tolerate them because there is more important work for me to do. My apprentice medicullers, my construction projects, my cullees. I cannot abandon my life’s work every time something angers me.”_

_This marked the third time someone had told Sollux to keep working on the API. First Lawscale, then the Chimeric, and now Trueshot. He had given so much thought into what the Chimeric had meant by ‘the power to end him,’ but couldn’t come up with anything that would truly_ end _this. Anything he contemplated would just cause a fight, which the Chimeric had the chance to escape, or worse, win._

_Hearing the news that the Chimeric had murdered someone made Sollux want to vomit and scream at the same time. He resisted that disgusting reaction, but he remembered the Chimeric’s words again. He was going to hurt people, lots of people, and when Sollux couldn’t take it, he’d be ready to end the Chimeric. This was the first death and he already felt like he couldn’t take it. But apparently, he had to. Now wasn’t the right time for Sollux to abandon his life’s work._

_“Is this perspective of any help to you?” Trueshot asked._

_“That is helpful,” Sollux admitted. He stood up without having touched any of the refreshments put out for him. Way to spit in the face of generosity. “I’ll let you know if I need to talk again. And if you need to talk, please respect the API enough to consider us able to help you.”_

_“I…” The Guardian hesitated before nodding. “Yes. Of course.”_

_They said goodbyes or whatever as Sollux left and returned to the comforting, armored shell of his vehicle. He pulled a palmhusk from his pocket and tapped out a few messages._

thaumaturgicAurelian is now contacting  crimsonGuerrilla

TA: ii hope you’re really fuckiing proud of your2elf cm.  
TA: ju2t a 2tellar job all around kiilliing 2omeone and makiing your2elf look even more iin2ane.  
TA: but mo2tly ii wanted two 2ay fuck you for thii2 prophetiic tolerance game.  
TA: ii haven’t 2olved that riiddle of how ii’m 2uppo2ed two ‘end you’.  
TA: 2o ii gue22 that mean2 ii’m not 2uppo2ed two 2lap your 2tupiid 2kull off your 2houlder2 for kiilliing 2omeone.  
TA: but iit al2o mean2, by exten2iion, that apparently ii can ‘2tomach’ you kiilliing people.  
TA: ii can’t.  
TA: ii don’t know why you needed two iinvent 2ome other magiic mon2ter two explaiin your own mon2tro2iity 2iince you’re doiing a pretty good job 2cariing the 2hiit out of everyone on your own.  
TA: ii al2o have no iidea iif you can even get thii2 me22age 2iince the la2t tiime you contacted me iit wa2 from a communal connectiiviity hub.  
TA: 2o whatever.  
TA: don’t go out of your way two make me hate you. ii thiink you owe me that a2 a friiend.

_He left the messenger open for another five minutes, hoping that maybe the Chimeric was in a position to see and reply to his tirade. But, apparently not. Only silence followed. So Sollux stowed his palmhusk and added a spark of juice to the vehicle’s engine again, leaving Trueshot’s hive behind and making his way home to the API._


	6. Divide and Conquest

_Eighteen days after the Chimeric left, the rebellion cracked._

_The Mirthful was inconsolable. He spent night after night at the edge of camp, staring in the direction his moirail had gone, refusing food and company while he sat and watched the horizon. The most anyone could get out of him were a few words professing his total belief that the Chimeric would return, and that it would be soon._

_“How soon?”_

_“Soon, motherfucker.”_

_But, his unshakable faith failed to transfer to the others. From the perspective of the lonely lover, sitting and waiting with statuesque patience made sense, but the rest of the crew found him creepy. Like some kind of hourglass with the top bulb covered, the rebels had no idea if he would truly wait forever, or lose patience and snap. From Nepeta’s point of view, the rebels were projecting their feelings onto the Mirthful. Each rebel had to ask themselves,_ how long am I willing to wait? What am I going to do once I can’t wait anymore?

_The small council of trolls who had first heard the news of the Chimeric’s departure did their best. Each took loose command of a small team of trolls, but the students and rebels had started to split like oil and water. Attempts to make them work together ended in sass at best and screaming at worst. What was it the Chimeric did? Just talk to people and then tell them something to do and they'd do it? There was obviously so much more to that, but what? Nepeta knew how to make a sleeping den from sticks and leaves and what could be done with the parts of a hunted beast she couldn’t eat, but she couldn’t figure out how to make people get along. Her social skills had improved dramatically since Trueshot took her in. Unfortunately, she did not have many tools beyond smiling and nodding._

_She made do. “If you have a problem with someone else, tell me instead of them. I’ll see what I can do about it.” Nepeta figured she could let her pride vent their problems to her instead of taking them out on each other. But that didn’t quite go according to plan either._

_“I feel lied to,” one of the former students, the Initiate, confessed to Nepeta. “I knew the Chimeric was a criminal, but the Compasse had raised him, and he was as good as any Guardian, even if he wanted to do something else. But now I’m here… and these people are thieves! And cheaters! Runaways! Bad, bad people, and no one told me! I was scared to leave but I’m even more scared to be here. I want to go back.”_

_Nepeta remembered the Chimeric had given people the opportunity to leave so many weeks ago. Did that policy still apply? How would she even propose that? And if the Chimeric came back to find all these students gone, the ones they had fought for, the ones he had killed for, what would he say?_

_She smiled sadly, nodded, and patted the Initiate’s shoulder. “There, there. I know they look bad, but they’re good people. Give it some more time.”_

_And when veterans of the rebellion came to Nepeta, things weren’t much better._

_“I don’t get it,” the Finagler said. “What did we need these entitled grubs for? They’re whiny and weak and they cry too much. They’re smart, sure, but it’s all the stuff you find in books. Nothing about how to live, how to fight. I had thought the Chimeric would tell us their purpose, but he’s gone off on a wild honkbeast chase, asking a mythic creature what to do when it’ll probably tell him to take a tongue-bath and yowl at the moons.”_

_Nepeta pouted a little. She liked tongue-baths and yowling._

_“Sorry. What I mean is, wasn’t the Chimeric supposed to be our leader? Where the fuck is he?”_

_“There, there,” she tried again. “I know it looks bad, but the Chimeric won’t abandon us. Give it some more time.”_

_“How much more time?”_

_Taking a gamble, Nepeta answered, “Wait until the Mirthful gives up.”_

_But even trying to placate everyone, the complaints kept coming. Violent. Lazy. Hateful. Snobs. Dangerous. Disloyal. Insult after insult brewing just beneath the surface, and all she could do was encourage people to wait it out one more night, one more chore, one more hour. She caught glances from other deputy leaders and could do nothing more than give them a small smile or squeeze of the hand as encouragement. They’d get through this if they stuck together._

_Unfortunately, some of the trolls had other plans._

_Around the fire, while everyone ate in preparation for dawn, one of the students from Nepeta’s team—the Initiate—stood up and clapped her hands a few times. “Excuse me, I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I have something I need to say.”_

_“You ‘need to,’ do you?” someone grumbled, but his neighbors shushed him._

_“My fellow students and I have been talking a bit, and we want to make our feelings known. We understand that there are some in this, um, party, who don’t want us here—”_

_“That’s right, now shut up and sit down,” another voice said._

_“Shut it!” someone answered them._

_The Initiate nodded thankfully to the one who had silenced their neighbor. “Right. Well, we do still want to participate in the creation of a new society, but we think that a change in leadership will make everything run more smoothly. We decided that in recognition of his overwhelming and obvious qualifications, we will follow the Seafarer.”_

_Eyes turned to the seadweller, who looked as wide-eyed and shocked to hear this as everyone else in the camp. The hair on the back of Nepeta’s neck raised, like she could feel a fight coming._

_“Hang on, what’s wrong with the structure we have?” the Deadbeat asked._

_“It’s obviously not working. We can’t agree on what we should be doing or whose orders we follow.”_

_“_ We _all agree, you ivory-hive types are the only ones who don’t get it!” Another troll got to her feet, but Nepeta moved to stand between the two of them._

_“Stay calm! There’s no reason this should become a fight!”_

_“Look, we left our culling institute on the promise that life out here would be better! And we’ve been working as hard as slaves and sleeping in ditches and the worst part is, there’s no proof we’re actually building a new society!” the Initiate summarized. “We would all feel a lot more comfortable if we had a stronger chain of command, starting with the Seafarer and working its way down.”_

_“You’re describing culling,” a rebel troll answered._

_“Not necessarily, just—”_

_“A chain of command? Seafarer down? Down what? The hemospectrum!?”_

_“It doesn’t have to be, but that’s the best way to determine—”_

_“Determine what, who’s better than who!?”_

_“Who is best able to lead!”_

_“Our leader is the Chimeric!”_

_“And where is he?!”_

_That accusation had no answer. Nepeta looked to the edge of camp where the Mirthful still sat, steady but useless. Couldn’t he do something to stop his moirail’s usurpation while the redblood in question couldn’t argue for himself?!_

_“That’s enough a this,” the Seafarer said. “You’re thrustin’ on me a command I won’t accept. If you want orders from me, here they are: the Chimeric’s chain a command remains unchanged. Understood?”_

_The Initiate nodded. “At least we know someone competent agrees with that plan…”_

_The angry veteran snarled and started to run across the circle. “What the fuck did you just say?!”_

_Nepeta stood a head shorter than the furious troll, but she knew what to do. She dropped low and knocked a foot out from under her, causing the attacker to fall to the ground. For good measure, Nepeta rolled onto her as well, keeping her pinned._

_“No one needs to fight over this!” she cried to the group. “Please, we need to get along!”_

_“How can we?! They don’t understand what we want!” Nepeta couldn’t see the speaker, and couldn’t tell if they were rebel or student._

_“It’s only temporary! Just until the Chimeric comes back!”_

_“We’re sick of waiting for him! And no matter which side of this we’re on, I think we’re all sick of it!” the Initiate said._

_“Maybe you should have thought of that before you left!”_

_“That’s enough, all a you!” The Seafarer stepped forward. “You’re all frustrated, but fightin’ won’t help! I propose this: if the Chimeric doesn’t come back in one week, we move out. I’ll assume a temporary—_ temporary! _—command and try and find us a place to put down some hive-roots. At least then we won’t be waitin’ like seated quackbeasts anymore.”_

_“And if the Chimeric comes back after we’ve left?” the Deadbeat asked._

_“Then I’m sure the Mirthful would be willin’ to bring him to us, where he can take command again.”_

_Nepeta noticed a few students roll their eyes and elbow each other._ They won’t recognize his authority if he comes back.

 _She shook herself._ When _he comes back._

_“Are we all agreed? One more week without snappin’ each other in half?” the Seafarer proposed._

_Instantly, the students agreed, and the rebels grudgingly came around, distrustful of the fact that they found themselves on the same side as the ‘traitorous elitists.’ Nepeta finally let the woman she had tackled up off the ground, and the full team meeting dissolved into chatter, with everyone discussing the new ruling._

_Nepeta left the circle to join the Mirthful, still staring at the lofty peak and the stars behind it. She knelt down, tucking her feet under her rear to keep her toes warm._

_“Did you… hear that?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s all good, wildsis. Once my little bro is back he’ll sort this all out.”_

_“You think he’ll come back in time to stop us from leaving?”_

_The Mirthful paused, but nodded. “Yeah. I do.”_

_Nepeta looked back at the wilderness. She had taught the Chimeric herself, he knew enough to keep from dying in a stupid accident. But that was part of the problem; even the most experienced hunters and survivalists met with bad luck sometimes. What if he couldn’t come back? Could they even look for him? Would they find him if they tried?_

_Nepeta leaned to the side until her head hit the Mirthful’s upper arm. In a moment like this, she’d usually cuddle with her lusus, but Pounce was unavailable, way back at Trueshot’s hive. The Mirthful’s skin felt cool and refreshing, like a shallow stream. After a moment, he shifted his body and wrapped that arm around Nepeta’s shoulders. She felt safe there._

Stay strong. Help each other. Have hope.

_She had to try. Nothing to do but try._

 

* * *

 

As much as Kanaya denied thinking of herself as a gullible person, she had an unfortunate track record when it came to believing things that people told her even when she had almost no reason to, or when in hindsight she wouldn't be able to believe she had fallen for the ruse. After some time spent in person with Rose, she had figured out that her conversation with a very stupid girl who used no capitalizations and professed love for the movie ‘Little Monsters’ was not actually Rose herself, but her friend John playing a prank. Her scheme to make Rose look stupid by sending her a document full of tactical omissions was in fact a product of her own misinformation. None of the points were awarded to Kanaya Maryam. None of them.

Ordinarily, that event was far enough in the past for Kanaya to not think about it too much or take it too harshly, but when Terezi contacted her with lines of excited turquoise about how she was speaking with Rose right now and the stunning developments of their conversation meant Kanaya _had_ to get to the common room _right now_ , she had a very strange sense that her leg was being pulled.

But why would she do that? No reason. But what reason did she need? Was she just that desperate for entertainment that she’d poke her nose in between Rose and Kanaya’s business? Vriska’s intrusions had been insufferable, but since the discovery of Prospera and the Benevole, the Thief seemed to be keeping her distance. Did Terezi see that as an invitation to pick up the slack? Honestly, and people called _her_ the meddlesome one.

Okay. Assume the worst, hope for the best. Maybe there really was something Rose wanted to tell her, and Terezi just wanted to fuck with her in the meantime. But if it wasn’t true, and Rose was just in a stupor again and had nothing to say… well, the hurt would pass. Eventually.

Opting to use a door rather than risk getting booted off of a transportalizer pad again, Kanaya arrived in the darkened lounge. If the lights were out, that indicated that there was no one in the hive’s block… So this was all a ruse?

“Kanaya, that’s you, right?”

“Yes, it is. Why are the lights off?”

“Yeah, sorry—about the light stuff, I was sleeping, and with Terezi, and she didn’t need them, so…”

“I see.” Kanaya stood in the door for another few seconds, the rectangle of light stretching into the room. “May I return this block to an illuminated state?”

“You abfol—absolutely may.”

Kanaya reached to the side until she found the switch that turned the light back on. The lounge looked to be in a normal state of disarray, with the addition of a few dark bottles and Rose on the couch. She looked… well-ish. Kanaya had grown accustomed to the fact that Rose’s face was often splotchy and she carried an odor of something bitter, and she had definitely witnessed Rose in the throes of more intense symptoms. With the light on, Rose closed her eyes and massaged her temples a bit.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Kanaya asked.

“Yes, certainly. Simply adjusting to the new brightness, just… taking a minute.” She tried opening her eyes, but blinked and squinted against the light. “I’ll be completely fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that… May I sit?”

“Please do, yes!” Rose patted the cushion beside her. “You are welcome to… pft… to sit.”

“Thank you.” Kanaya did sit, perched on the edge of the cushion while Rose sat further back, cross-legged and stretching her skirt into a kind of tent.

“First item on the ah-genda,” Rose began. “I would like to respectably inquire about when Terezi Pyrope became such a busybody. Do you have any speculation about when that happened?”

Kanaya blinked. “I was not aware that her behavior had altered in any significant way. She has always been somewhat of a bewildering presence.”

“That’s not a very encouraging response. What will she be responsible for next? Unscrewing the lids of the salt shakers? Or… or…”

“Or what?”

“I can’t think of another example,” Rose admitted. “But I want to be… very stern with her, over other stuff. Later.”

“What precisely has she done to incur your strict admonishment?”

“She has quite unfortunately axelrated something I had hoped to—to gradually work up to.” Rose put a hand on her mouth to stifle a hiccup.

“I think I understand,” Kanaya said. “If you truly aren’t prepared, I would be happy to wait for a more opportune moment…”

Rose giggled at something. “References to pirates aside, nnno. I can handle this. I can do it now.”

 _What do opportune moments have to do with marauding seafaring criminals?_ Really, Kanaya felt so lost when Rose was like this. And not the pleasant kind of lost. When Rose was sharp and precise, her usual self, Kanaya felt lost in a maze, full of twists, turns, dead-ends, and a rewarding path to the end that made her feel clever or special. She liked to think she could, on occasion, create such puzzles for Rose in turn. But now, she used far more references to concepts that left Kanaya frustrated. It was like dancing to a record that skipped notes randomly, leaving her nothing to anchor herself with.

Terezi had said she had something romantic to say. And though Rose seemed to have a bone to pick with her fellow Seer, Kanaya sincerely doubted that Rose would take any sort of vengeful action against Terezi for some basic meddling. After all, plenty of other people were prone to meddling, and ‘something romantic’ could include so much. If Paradox Space was taking requests, Kanaya wanted Rose to get down on one knee and request that Kanaya human marry her. Kanaya also knew that was stupid and would never happen, so she tried to put it aside. It was probably something more mundane, like… like admitting she had a crush. But what if Terezi really was trolling her, and ‘something romantic’ was just some scraps of gossip? _Oh, Kanaya, you will not_ believe _who Karkat is pitch for now!_ A billion boondollars said she would.

“I’m ready to listen whenever you’re ready to speak,” Kanaya said, delicately phrasing her desire for Rose to hurry up.

“Yeah, cuz honestly, Terezi could stand to be a less outgoing individual.” Rose apparently wasn’t done making that point about how annoying Terezi had been. “I mean, I know she’s trying to do something good, but god, I just wanna… I wanna slap her over it. And I feel terrible that _she_ ’ _s_ the reason I’m doing this, like what the _fuck?_ ”

“I do not actually know what the fuck is. Do you think you could explain what she wants you to tell me, and then we can evaluate whether we should expend effort slapping Terezi or not?”

“Yeah. Yeaaaah, yeah, thanks.” Rose smiled again. “You’re so smart, Kanaya, keeping me on track.”

Kanaya offered a strained smile, remembering a time when Rose could keep herself on track. “Happy to help.”

“You… don’t seem very happy.” Suddenly possessing empathy or something like it, Rose folded her legs into a new configuration to look at Kanaya. “Is something wrong? We can talk aboot your thing first.”

Mother Grub gracious, Kanaya couldn’t take much more of this! “Rose, I assure you, my present distress is related to the product of ambiguity from two very concerning sources! Terezi told me you had something to say, and now I am here listening to what you want to tell me, but I do not think we have reached ‘the point’ yet, whatever that may be! And it is not making me happy! I _am_ happy to _help_ , but I am _not_ happy being… being…” What was the phrase for this?

“…A sucker?”

A sucker. Yeah, Kanaya was a sucker alright. A great, green sucker taken for a ride: by the man in the desert who put her to sleep, by the visions of Skaia who gave false confidence, by Vriska who cared about Kanaya’s skills but not her self, by her fetch modus that decided to release the Matriorb right before mayhem reigned, and now by a great gray meteor plummeting through infinite darkness to a new session that could bear fruit, but after so much false hope she wasn’t counting on it. Kanaya Sucker Maryam.

A hand touched her back. Rose had reached out and touched Kanaya between her shoulders with the flat of her hand, patting. Was Rose trying to pap her? Leaving aside that physical contact on a non-facial area was pretty incompetent and alien, this was comforting. This was pale. Could that be what Terezi had warned her about? Something romantic, but not flushed? Pale? Again?!

“I should go,” Kanaya said. “It doesn’t seem like what you have to say is that important anyway.”

“No, no, no, no, don’t go, I haven’t said it!” Rose shifted her own hand to keep Kanaya from standing up. She could easily shake off the weak grip, but she figured she would give Rose until the count of five. “I’m sorry that I’m rambling, I just haven’t done this before, and it’s really scary, like I’ve done scary things before but this is…”

 _One_.

“Okay, so, Terezi was being a huge bitch, ovbiously, but she’s not a wrong bitch. I wanna say something about us. I like you a lot, Kayana… sorry, Kanaya.”

 _Two_.

“And I wanna spend more time with you, than I do. I know I’m the reason we don’t hang out and—and—I think there’s a lot we could do!”

“Like what?” Kanaya prompted.

“Like… that last book you lent me, there’s more in the series, right?”

She sighed. _Three_.

“And it was really good! You like good books, and so do I… And I was thinking, maybe you wanted to learn to knit?”

 _Four!_ Kanaya was tempted to jump to five right there, she had never been a fan of using knit patterns in her designs. She enjoyed Rose at work with yarn, the look of concentration on her face and the serene rhythm of the needles, but she did not care for wooly garments enough to want to learn about their creation.

“Or, or something… more like a date?”

Kanaya froze. Did she just hear that? Was this real? “What precisely do you mean by… date?”

“Shit, I forgot, quadrants.” Rose pinched the bridge of her nose. “The human one. The quadrant that we both have. Flushed. Mateysprites.”

“Matesprits.”

“Yes. That one. I want to go on a matesprit date with you.”

And she had been about to walk out on Rose over unfashionable handcrafts. Kanaya felt her stress crumbling into something else, something happy and scared but very, very warm. And she managed to smile. “I would like that too… but what would qualify as a date on this meteor?”

“I don’t know? We can come up with it together. On earth, dates were pretty much normal social activities framed in a romanticized contest, lending itself to ambiguity between friends. But I’m… I’m putting ambiguity outside. With the trash. I don’t want to be ambuguous about this.” Rose took a deep breath, and in the most even tone Kanaya had heard since the beginning of this conversation, said clearly: “Kanaya Maryam, will you please go on a date with me?”

Now she felt ready to laugh. All that anxiety, and for what? Rose was flushed for her, just like Kanaya was for Rose. This was a first. “Rose Lalonde, I would be honored.”

“Neat! I… I mean, yes. Cool. Okay.” Rose covered her face with her hands. “That was the question Terezi implied to you. If I didn’t ask you in this conversation she promised to become even more headache-inducing than she already was. I wanted to ask you anyway, for… god, I don’t even know. Time is stupid.”

“Don’t let Dave hear you say that,” Kanaya chided.

“I think Dave would agree with me, once I debated him into submission.” Rose mumbled this ostentatious claim. “But anyway, I’m sorry. Terezi just made me ask it fast.”

“I don’t mind. And I’d like to submit for your consideration that we wait to slap her until after we see how our date goes.”

“I agree. So… so what should we do?”

“Something normal, you said. But in a more special way.”

“Right. Okay. Give me… three days? Ish? I’m gonna come up with something to do. But hell or water, we’re gonna do it. We’re gonna make a date happen.”

Kanaya smiled a little wider. That precise pattern of humorous words had fallen out of fashion, but she found Rose cute for using it anyway. “Do you need me to give you space to organize our romantic outing?”

“…Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize! You just said something I had hoped you’d say.” Kanaya stood up and smoothed her skirt. She’d find some way to occupy the time until her date.

 _My date, my date, my date!_ She had a flushed date! She wanted to kiss Rose in joy, in gratitude, and more feelings than she knew how to describe, but she held back. She shouldn’t be kissing on the first date. Or before the first date. What the hell was wrong with her?

Nothing was wrong. She had just gotten what she wanted most. So, as she gave Rose a pat on the head and a smile to apologize for the awkward gesture, Kanaya left the common lounge. As soon as the door shut behind her, she wanted to scream in joy. She resisted for a while, but broke ten feet away from her respiteblock. The happy noise echoed down the dark hallways, more beautiful than anything else she had heard on this whole meteor.


	7. What Am I To You?

Karkat spent longer than he expected in the… what even was that place? Gamzee’s nest? It wasn’t a block or hive or anywhere respectable for a troll to live. Anyway, Karkat stayed long enough for Gamzee to fall asleep, and passed most of the time sitting next to him reading his newly found copy of _Rage and Repugnance_. His back got a crick in it, leaning on that lumpy pile of clothes, but any time he looked up and considered leaving, he looked down at Gamzee and figured he could stay.

The vents were quiet, save periodic hisses of air. Karkat could hear himself turn the pages of his book. After stray honks and the fear of not knowing where in the room Gamzee lurked, both the quiet and the certainty of his position did Karkat a lot of good.

He had no idea how long he actually spent there, but Gamzee eventually woke up. For a second there, he had those dazed eyes that Karkat remembered. That vanished a moment later, and Gamzee sat up.

“Hey.” Karkat’s voice cracked from disuse, but he felt he had to speak, reassure Gamzee what was going on. “Maybe with less shit around, you could fit a recuperacoon in here.”

Gamzee made eye contact for some long seconds, intense and hair-raising, before he extracted himself from the pile of clothes and backed toward the corner with his miscellaneous possessions. _Still scared._

“That’s okay, you don’t have to. It was just an idea.” Karkat stood up from the pile and twisted side to side, cracking his spine. “Anyway, some people might be missing me by now. I’ll come back, I promise. But I should go. Okay?”

With a small nod, Gamzee took a few more steps back. Not knowing what else to do, Karkat clambered back into the vent, and promptly got himself lost. He had no idea how to get back to his respiteblock, so he compromised and just started searching for the first lit space. He’d drop down into the real-life side of the meteor and then get his bearings.

Eventually, the strategy paid off, leading Karkat into a corridor that he believed was halfway between the lab where all the slime and wigglers had happened over a sweep ago, and some other transportalizer hub. Good enough, he’d find his way back to what passed for civilization soon. As he walked, he slapped his arms and legs to dislodge the dust from the air vents. Did he smell? There had been so much garbage in that room, he probably did. Straight to the ablution trap for him

“Woah—Karkat, hey! Hold up a minute.”

As if he wasn’t skittish enough after his adventures in insane clown land, Karkat jumped at the sound of Dave’s voice. Guilt rushed through him, though Karkat didn’t quite understand why. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? “You don’t have to scream, Strider. I can hear you just fine.”

“You’re exaggerating, man. When was the last time you ever heard me scream?”

“Do bubble wraiths ring any bells?”

“Nope, totally not. No such thing.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “Whatever, look at me holding the fuck up like I am the sole person responsible for its elevation. Did you and Terezi finish whatever it was you were doing?”

“Yeah, hours ago. I had time to do my own thing, go listen to the girls talk about new session research, get hassled by Vriska, go to sleep, speak to two different dancestors, and get hassled by Vriska again.”

“Wow, it almost sounds like you time-traveled to fit that much in.”

“Not even! Rose had some shit to say about time traveling in the furthest ring being akin to trying to jump onto a train off of a spaceship. I don’t know if that metaphor checks out but I’m inclined to believe her. But this isn’t about where I’ve been, where have _you_ been?”

“Just—doing some stuff! I didn’t think answering you was urgent or anything, and I thought Terezi would keep you busy for a while.”

“What do you take me for, a toddler? Or what do trolls call them, wiggles?”

“Wigglers,” Karkat corrected without much vitriol.

“Whatever, bottom line is you’re being weirdly elusive, especially when I could really go for some less than psycho-manic company. You probably know it better than me, Terezi is cool, but a guy only has so much stamina. What were you up to?”

Lying was never Karkat’s strong suit. What the fuck should he say?! “I had to take out the trash.”

“Trash duty took hours?”

“There was a lot of trash!”

“Where was all this trash? I could have helped or something.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I am astounding everyone up in here with how low my standards for entertainment have become. So long as it doesn’t involve anyone getting in my grill about how I ‘should’ be spending my time, it doesn’t matter.”

“…Glad to hear that?” Karkat wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t check your messages to figure out how much dire boredom you were in, but I was handling something pretty important. I’ll do better to manage your boredom quota.”

“It’s not a boredom quota, I just like hanging out, or human hanging out if you need me to be specific. After all the shit I’ve been through, I kind of missed you.”

Before he could take any kind of heartwarming emotion from that comment, a guilt-tsunami wiped it all out. Dave had _missed_ him while he was crawling around in vents cleaning up after a creepy silent murderclown. And that meant Dave actually did like him enough for Karkat’s absence to have a negative impact on him. But then what would Dave think about Karkat lying to him barely a minute ago? Or what would he think of Karkat’s mission of rehabilitation in the first place?

Calling attention to that sentimental statement would probably make Dave back down and correct himself, so Karkat pushed ahead. “Fine, consider me here for the hanging. What exactly do you want to do?”

“I mean, I don’t have an ‘exactly.’ I just want to do something.”

Great. Karkat wanted to see Dave, but the last thing he wanted to do was get stuck in a loop of indecisive, passive, bulge-fondling nonsense. Without something to do, he and Dave would just be sitting there, nothing to distract them, nothing to talk about… and just about any topic could fill the space, including ones Karkat wanted to avoid.

“Well, there’s still most of Troll Will Smith’s filmography left,” Karkat suggested. “He’s definitely sassier than other romantic leads, so…”

“Eh, I think I’m tapped out on movies. You wanna swing by Can Town and see if the Mayor is up to anything cool?”

“I can tell you already what he’s up to, and it’s either mass-alchemizing ridiculous amounts of nutrition cylinders or arranging them into new fake edifices.”

“Wait, are you seriously burned out on Can Town?”

“Maybe! I don’t know!”

“We could try napping? See what a dreambubble has in store for us?”

“Didn’t you just say you had a nap, in that enormous summary of all the shit you did since I last saw you?”

“Technically?”

“Forget it then, sleeping is still too surreal anyway.”

“Then what are we going to do? I’m literally down for anything.”

“Ugh, fine! I refuse to believe that we have already exhausted every single activity possible to perform on this sullen hunk of rock! I am going to think of something, you believe me!”

“I do believe you, but what is it going to be?”

Karkat slammed his think pan against the combustion surface in the nutrition block of his head. “What about… about… music?”

Dave’s eyebrows rose over his shades, and Karkat felt pretty much the same way. “What?”

“You do music, right? You had that… that audible discus on that shirt you used to wear.”

“That was a record, I’m not going to accept that trolls have a stupid word for ‘record’ when ‘record’ does just fine. And you don’t ‘do music,’ it’s called mixing.”

“Whatever it’s called, I couldn’t give a pair of airborne shits. But you used to do it, I bet you think you’re good at it—”

“I _know_ I’m good at it.”

“— _And_ , that’s something we can do. Show off the music you… mixed.”

Dave got very quiet for a minute. Shit, did Karkat do something wrong? Did he cross a line, did he make Dave feel weird, was this too private, too ‘gay,’ whatever the hell that even meant?!

“Sounds… sounds good,” Dave finally answered. “I know I’ve got a few old tracks that hold their freshness like vacuum-sealed steak, but I might be inspired to start mixing something new. I can show you the basics of how it gets done. I’ll be the mother and you be the midwife.”

“Okay I know what a mother is, but what the hell is a midwife? I think you just made that up. And I thought there was some gender correlation between who is a mother versus a father?”

“Yeah, mothers are the dudes.”

“You still made up the word ‘midwife.’”

Dave bust out laughing. “Oh my god, you believed me on the ‘mothers’ thing? You dumbass.”

“What evidence do I have to contradict you!? You fucking serpentine deceiver!”

The insults burst forth like fireworks, sizzling and bombastic and far, far above their heads, too high up to hurt anyone. And after a few hours spent in tense silence, the chance to breathe and laugh again felt like shrugging a great weight off his back.

 

* * *

 

_In Kenna, the Chimeric’s fingerprints were everywhere. All the evidence they had failed to find in Althelney appeared with a simple scrape of the surface: movements of figures in hoods, purchases of supplies to restock a destroyer galleon, a rash of burglaries targeting armaments museums, everything that pointed to subversive activity in the area._

_Every scrap of evidence they found made Terezi feel stupider. She should have come here weeks ago! When no evidence turned up where she thought he would be, why didn’t she immediately go somewhere else? She had finally abandoned dwelling over the possibility of saving the Stalwart’s life if she had been faster or smarter. Maybe his murder was truly unavoidable! But she had lost so much time hunting shadows, and the Chimeric was putting more and more distance in between them. He had given them the slip, plain and simple. That hurt far worse._

_“It looks like they supplied for two hundred sailors for three perigees.” Prospera reviewed the papers, reading aloud. “Which either means they recruited from other sources under our noses, or they are planning to sail far longer than three perigees.”_

_“Do any items stand out?”_

_“Nothing on the invoice. Water, rations, light fuel, rope, sail repairs. There’s also wilderness survival gear, maybe they’re planning to make expeditions inland. I suppose the only thing standing out is that the Seafarer would never stand for quality this frugal. I hope that this desecration of his most precious seaborne treasure won’t make him act rashly before a rescue attempt is made.”_

_“And the chances the Seafarer is already dead?”_

_“Still remote, I would guess. He’s simply too valuable to either side. The Chimeric can’t turn him loose and return the Compasse’s most powerful game piece, but seeing how much hatred he has earned for using fatal force in a strife, I doubt an execution would improve his recruiting power.”_

_“And he’s definitely recruiting.”_

_“No doubt about it. Those warning signs on the block entrance frames, those were placed there by the students. Everyone who left volunteered, and they did so at the Chimeric’s invitation. The only question remaining is where the Chimeric will find any more sympathizers to his cause. Almost all public pity he benefitted from has evaporated in light of his violent means.”_

_“Find a new page, I want to think this through.” She could smell eddies of air swirling as Prospera performed a sarcastically elaborate bow. “Sometime_ tonight _, former-Marquise.”_

_“Fine then. What brilliance of yours do you wish to have inscribed upon this page?”_

_“Start with criminals. People who have already fallen from grace with him have nothing to lose by joining a rebellion… but he will have to prove that there is something for them to gain joining him. What those gains might be… protection. Quasi-amnesty. That’s likely what’s keeping the core of your former lackeys under his sway: a pardon backed simply by faith. We can recommend a course of action to the Compasse to increase security surrounding prisons, mobilize reinforcementers against any shady neighborhoods, what have you.”_

_“Wouldn’t that create more radicalization against the Compasse? I heard tell that was your argument against sending the Seafarer in the first place.”_

_“I’ll blame it on blood simply because it makes for an apt metaphor, but the Chimeric burns brighter than any troll to ever walk this earth. He will radicalize at a hint of resistance. With the death of the Stalwart, most anyone with sense will see the Empress is in the right to take action to protect us.”_

_“You’re talking out of your ass. You’ve never advocated for increased scrutiny in communities.”_

_“Yes, because I have found the wicked who believe they are unopposed get sloppy and make mistakes. That’s how you catch an evildoer. But my personal convictions have to be set aside. We need more eyes. Everyone needs to be on the lookout for red.”_

_“Fine then, your suggestion has been noted,” Prospera said. “Where will he go next?”_

_“Next… Anyone he can convince has been wronged by culling. The Mondaine already stands with him, but cases like hers illustrate the point. Someone so deeply unsatisfied with culling they are begging for a chance to leave it. We should make contact with Guardians throughout the region and collect information on the most difficult culling cases they’ve faced in the last few sweeps. Anyone who has tried to run away before.”_

_“That’s very clever, but unlike criminals, there’s very little that connects runaways. Someone can be opposed to both culling and the Chimeric.”_

_“Yes, that’s true. But they may choose a supposedly lesser evil.”_

_“And runaways are far more scattered and fragmented than criminals in the first place. How will the Chimeric even signal to them that he will be waiting for them if they run?”_

_“He’ll have to create new codes.”_

_“We will need to anticipate and crack them. It could allow us to be one step ahead.”_

_“It’s unlikely to work that way. Like trying to look directly in a blind spot.”_

_“A_ blind _spot, you say? What would you know about those?”_

_“I once could see, Prospera. Don’t forget that.”_

_The blueblood had no response for that, but scratched her pen against the paper, noting Terezi’s last theory. “So. Double security around prisons and rough hiveclusters, and keep a very close eye on skittish cullees. What else?”_

_Terezi massaged her temples. She couldn’t think. “…Old contacts, maybe. But we’ve already been monitoring those.”_

_“It wouldn’t hurt to have some lowly inferiors do another round of interviews. Just to check up on what those he once called friends think of him now. Perhaps he’s contacted one of them for assistance. Whether they helped him or ignored him, they could have clues about where he’s gone.”_

_“That’s… a very good idea,” Terezi admitted. “There was certainly a reason you evaded capture for so long.”_

_“And there’s more than one rogue agent I’ve managed to capture in my day. You know I’m good. I just need you to trust me now.”_

_“Trust is asking a bit much of me.”_

_“I am trusting you in this mission, aren’t I?”_

_“But I am trustworthy.”_

_“My dearest partner, it wounds me to hear that you think I am so fickle and incapable of commitment to a cause! I will see this through to the end!”_

_“You will see it through until you once again have your matesprit.”_

_“I’ve sent letters for months and haven’t heard a word back. There’s a chance she’s not reading them at all. But I have a new reason to see this mission through to the end.”_

_“And what might that be?”_

_“How do you think the Chimeric paid to resupply the_ Absolution? _”_

_“With money.”_

_“_ My _money, specifically. And I find myself filled with the peculiar desire to make him repay every single caegar he stole from me.”_

_“But he obviously has no funds. That’s why he spent yours.”_

_“His horns will suffice. Pity they’re too small to make much of a trophy, but it’s the thought that counts.”_

_Terezi paused for a moment, gasping and gaping in almost the same breath. Such a barbaric practice, to take a troll’s horns, eliminated from civilized society thousands, if not millions, of sweeps ago. Terezi would never allow it. She’d make Prospera stand down, no matter what it took. After all, it was her job to keep Prospera from doing heinous things she’d surely regret._

What am I, her warden or her lusus?

_The thought happened so suddenly and absurdly that Terezi snickered, involuntarily. Prospera obviously heard, and added a gentle laugh of her own. “Not that I object to the joyful interruption, but why are you laughing?” she asked Terezi._

_“I suppose…” Terezi thought fast. “The idea that it took trollkind countless broods to evolve from savage survivalists to cultured communities, and the actions of a single troll are about to send it all crashing down again. I mean really, Prospera, de-horning him?”_

_“I’m sure I could find a way to make it elegant and cultured.”_

_“Somehow, I know to not doubt you on that.”_


	8. Crystal

Finding a dreambubble with a library in it became a new special boon. From her years—sweeps, why was she starting to think of things in ‘years?’—as a gamer, Vriska came to think of them as a bonus level. Like a special round where they had limited time to uncover as many interesting tidbits as they could. Unfortunately, from her very same experience with gaming, she knew a vast majority of the books in any given library would be completely fucking useless.

So, she and Terezi set up a system that Vriska had secretly nicknamed ‘the Scourgicane,’ which she would never utter aloud because it was really lame and Terezi would make so much fun of her for it. It involved Vriska using her awesome fairy wings to zip around the tall bookshelves, glance at a book’s title or cover, and make a split-second choice of whether it was going to be useful or not. Useless books got dumped on the floor with no fanfare. Useful books got thrown to Terezi, who gave them a second sniff and lick and then sorted them according to whatever vague categories the library seemed to be providing: information about the Genesis Frog, about scratched sessions, about ectobiology, about doomed timelines, about ancestors. Then they’d read those books later in order of what information they deemed most important, so that if the dream ended or the bubble left, they had the greatest probability of getting good intelligence out of the endeavor. With Vriska’s Light powers giving her snap decisions stunning accuracy and Terezi’s judicious arrangement of their topics, they ransacked some pretty good information out of these knowledge depositories.

With another Scourgicane in full force tearing apart a high-ceilinged, tall-shelved cathedral of a library, Vriska started up some small talk. “You’ve been busy,” she called down to Terezi as books rained from the rafters.

“Have I? I haven’t noticed being busier than normal.”

“Maybe because you’re not directing it at spastic bullshit for once. I heard you were messing with Rose.”

“Oh, right! Yes, I did do that.”

“And?!”

“And what?”

“ _Why_ would you do that?”

“Because I heard from a reliable source that this drinking issue of hers needs to come to a stop. Like you said, we need to be ready for the war.”

“And setting her up with Kanaya will do that?”

“Yes! Because either she shapes up for the sake of flushed pity or faces my wrath.”

“Really. You have a wrath.”

“Of course I do.”

“But that’s never been what you _do_! You lay traps and then your enemies go blundering into them.”

“Yes, that’s my wrath.”

“That’s not a wrath! That’s just tricky deception!”

“It worked on you, didn’t it?”

Vriska paused mid-flit, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples to try and keep the frustration inside. Terezi kept doing that! Bringing up the worst thing that had ever happened between them like it was nothing! And Vriska knew what to fire back, that her revenge had been so much worse than what Terezi did to her, and besides, thanks to going God Tier, it didn’t even stick! But she wanted to forget about that as much as possible. She wanted to stop being reminded at every turn that she had hurt Terezi.

“Okay, but it’s on you to deal with the fallout if she can’t get her shit together for Kanaya,” Vriska answered.

“Actually, I think that should be _your_ responsibility.” Terezi tossed that confusing statement out with no fanfare and then licked the cover of another book.

“What the fuck? Why?!”

“I’ve been trying to send you a hint about it, but you’re not picking up.”

Vriska tipped more rejected books onto the floor with a vengeance. “Then fucking _tell_ me! What is the point of us being in cahoots to lead these losers to victory for once in their lives if you’re not going to _communicate_ with me!”

Terezi hesitated, and her first words would have aggravated Vriska even worse if they didn’t sound so nervous. “Maybe… calm down first?”

The Thief took two deep breaths. She felt off-balance, wanting eight to fully calm down, but letting the awkward silence continue proved even harder to bear. “Okay. Okay! I’m cool. I’m cool with… whatever you have to say.”

“Kanaya never liked Tavros. She liked you.”

“ _What_???????? Are you serious?”

“Yeah! And pretty much everyone else knew it! Nepeta first had you pegged as a mismatched pale/flush clusterfuck ages ago, made all the more complicated by the fact Kanaya always had to jump between you and any poor sap you were black-flirting with at the time.”

“Okay but Nepeta shipped _everyone_ –”

“Then _Kanaya_ would complain about Eridan hassling her on her quadrants, while _Eridan_ gladly glubbed to _me_ about how he felt a kindred connection to her as someone flushed for their moirail.”

“She and Eridan told you what?!”

“And then when you went and used all her hard work to galavant around playing redrom games with Tavros, she took it really hard! Is that finally clear enough for you?”

Vriska had to sit on one of the bookshelves to gather herself. That’s what Kanaya had been seeking all that time? Like a different set of lenses had been added to her glasses, her entire history with Kanaya took a new focus. Kanaya had been trying to signal ‘red,’ but her mature composure had kept diluting it down to ‘pale’ in Vriska’s mind. Frankly, what shocked Vriska most was that she had somehow failed to draw the most obvious conclusion: that everyone was in love with her.

“While you’re coping with the sudden revelation, the rest of us knew for practically the whole span of our session. So you really only have yourself to blame.”

“What—Wait, no! You can’t _blame_ me for not knowing what goes through Miss… Cagey Mc… Fangyfashion’s think pan!” _Oh my god, Cagey McFangyfashion? My insult game is way off the rails._

“That’s absolutely right, blame is a completely counter-productive emotion!” Terezi said brightly. “And you really don’t have anything to worry about—except for the potential for Rose to be an even more oblivious and insensitive asshole than you were. And don’t you think you owe it to Kanaya to save putting her through _another_ round of tragic heartbreak?”

“You’re sure laying it on thick,” Vriska grumbled, loudly enough to be sure Terezi heard her.

“I’m just saying, if you want to keep on making messes, you need to address the consequences. You got a second chance for a reason and you shouldn’t waste it on stupid shit.”

“How do you know John didn’t just save me because he _liiiiiiiikes_ me? ‘Oh boy, Vriska, thank you for being so smart and attractive and helping me on my windy quest! To repay you for making sure I didn’t die at least a thousand times, I’ll return the favor!’ Or some other dorky drivel like that.”

Terezi chucked a book back up at the high shelves and missed Vriska by a few feet. It reached its apex and tumbled in a graceful arc toward the library’s other aisle. “Tell yourself any story you want, but you know I’m right. You’re here to make things better. Act like it.”

Vriska made a face, trying to dig up some other witty barb, when the book behind her hit the floor. _Thud_. And then a second _thud_ sounded right after that, which made no sense. No other books could have fallen down…

…Unless there was someone else in the library with them.

Vriska leaned over to look down at Terezi, who held her hand in the air like a ‘stop’ signal, and then waved her finger in a circle. The best interpretation Vriska could come up with for a gesture like that was ‘fly around.’ If Vriska stayed in the air while Terezi found the intruder on the ground, they had the greatest chance of double-teaming the stranger. Of course, all these dreambubble inhabitants were people they knew or variations on those people, but unlike most other dreambubble environments, this place had too much ambush potential for either Scourge Sister to be comfortable without precautions.

Vriska gathered her feet beneath her and jumped into the air, hovering with her toes inches above the top shelves. The ceiling was high, cavernous, but not tall enough for Vriska to see the entire room at once. She looked back to Terezi, who took out her cane and started to tap the rounded tip on the ground quietly, an exaggeration to play up her supposed disadvantage. While Terezi went up each aisle, Vriska went down, keeping pace with her sister’s progression down the rows and scanning for who else might be here. The intruder would notice one troll girl first, and the other would be primed for an ambush.

Another _thud_ sounded from deeper in the library. Another book falling. Terezi picked up her cane and scooted forward more quickly, Vriska keeping pace with her sparkly wings. Finally, they rounded the right corner, and found a very familiar ghost.

“Wait…” Terezi sniffed. “ _Kankri_? When did you get here?”

Vriska descended until her feet touched the ground. Kankri looked embarrassed and terrified all in one, white eyes gaping, almost pleading. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, gesturing helplessly between the shelves and the books he was pulling out for himself. “I just knew I was here, and… and who are you?”

Vriska and Terezi paused, but the confusion quickly resolved. “Ah, fuck, he’s a doomed offshoot.” Vriska kicked at the floor with her snazzy red boots. Honestly, the only part of her God Tier ensemble she missed when in her normal clothes.

“A what?”

“If you don’t recognize us, then you’re not the alpha Kankri,” Terezi said. “That’s a very long and complicated way to say that you’re dead because of a hiccup in your timeline. Things didn’t go the way they needed to in order to advance, and since you died, you live here now, in the dreambubbles!”

“I was aware of my demise, so I suppose I can accept that this is some kind of afterlife,” Kankri told them. “So you two are…?”

“Dreamers. Long story, but the living can interact with the dead here when we sleep,” Terezi continued to explain.

“You two look familiar.”

“Latula and Aranea, we know,” Vriska said. “But you really shouldn’t be comparing us to them. We’re the living heroes, winners of a new universe! Your team ended up being a collection of losers and freaks, but don’t worry about that. After all, we couldn’t have existed if you didn’t fuck up! So thanks for that!”

“…I don’t think I understand any part of what you just said,” Kankri stated. “But since you are not my friends, who are you?”

“My name’s Terezi! And can I say your sweater smells absolutely _incredible_?”

“I was not aware it was… scented?”

“Not like that, it’s the smell of the color! Decadent candy red! Mind if I take a lick?”

“I mind considerably! Please stay away!” Kankri backed up away from Terezi, until he pressed against the opposite set of shelves. “A sweater made of woolbeast material should not be confused with candy, no matter how red they both are!”

Vriska laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, you really don’t want to be licking a sweater, Terezi. Think of the threads on your tongue.”

“Ugh, good point.” Terezi grimaced. “I’ll just have to lick your skin directly some other time, Kankri.”

“…Lucky me.” He swallowed, and then turned his attention to Vriska. “And you? How should I address you?”

She puffed up her chest. “You may address me as Marquise Spinneret Mindfang.”

“Vriska, no.”

“You had to ruin it _that_ fast?”

“Wait, is she or is she not a Marquise?”

“She’s not. It’s her old roleplaying persona. That’s Vriska, Vriska Serket.”

“Thank you for the introductions. You already seem to know me, but... what are you doing here?”

“I think we should ask you the same question first,” Vriska said. “We’ve been combing this library for useful information about our multitude of invincible foes. What have _you_ been snooping around to find?”

“I have no true purpose in being here, I’ll admit that. I’m simply finding something new to read. When I was young, I used to wander a library much like this one and choose books of interest to me, on a variety of topics. I don’t mean to intrude on your own research project.”

Vriska kicked over his short stack of books to check his claim. A book on nautical history, one volume of an encyclopedia, the collected works of noted activists of the early age of blah blah bored already. And then some kind of salacious romance novel, Vriska could tell just from the cover. She scooted her foot under that one and raised it up to show Terezi. “How does _this_ make sense with your celibacy vow, hm?”

“That—I—I mean…” Put on the spot, Kankri’s cheeks threatened to match his sweater. “The true definition of celibacy concerns abstinence from _relations_ with others, there’s not—there’s no rule concerning the private activities of any individual—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just giving you a hard time.” Vriska flipped the book off her foot and back down on top of his other chosen readings. “We’ll just wish you the best of luck, and if you need help adjusting to the afterlife, let almost literally anyone know. They’re in the same seafaring vessel as you.”

“Wait, please,” Kankri said. “It’s very obvious that my death occurred before I could uncover much of anything about who we are or what our purpose is, so there is a great deal of information I am missing. Would it be all right if I assisted in your research?”

Vriska blinked. She had never expected to hear a Kankri offer to actually _help_ someone rather than endlessly debate what would be theoretically helpful and blowing whistles on people’s speech when they said anything, no matter how accidental, that tripped his oh-so-charitable alarm. And now that she thought about it, this guy hadn’t said the word ‘privilege’ even once. _What gives?_

Wait, she knew there was an explanation for this. Some insight regarding the dancestors and their tendency to be absolutely fucking insane? The concept of a ghost gradually losing nuances to their personality as they relived strong memories? By the end of it, they ended up adopting a sparse few dominant traits and losing the rest. Maybe this Kankri was, from his perspective, too new to death. He hadn’t yet lost the ability to distinguish idle discourse from actionable help. He might still be an asshole, but he wasn’t shithive maggots.

“We’ve got a pretty nice system we could try letting you in on.” Terezi took the lead in favor of helping Kankri. “Vriska can find the books we need, I categorize them by topic. Maybe you can start speed-reading whatever you can, and when we’re closer to done, you can abridge it.”

“Are you certain he can abridge it? Wouldn’t he just make it longer?” Vriska folded her arms.

“Can you tell me what I just said, but in ten words or less?” Terezi asked.

Kankri’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Vriska separates, Terezi sorts, I analyze. That should be six.”

“Ten exactly if I count that last addendum. You pass.” Terezi smiled to Vriska. “Come on, we can’t let go of a willing menacecretary.”

Not seeing any value in the fight, Vriska let it go. “Fine, Mr. Insufferable. Terezi, show him the existing categories. We already lost too much time on this ridiculous side-interrogation, so you better help us make up for that, understood?”

Kankri nodded. “Crystal.”

 

* * *

 

How does a body wait for another body in a place where time has no meaning? And furthermore, how does a body wait for another body when the first motherfucker hopes with all his pump biscuit that he’ll never show?

Time for the deep questions here.

Kurloz had a strong reputation as a faithful sort, which most people misunderstood as following a set of words and treating them as the answers to all. No, faith was just a means for finding peace when faced with uncertainty. Whenever the multiverse melted into a stewpot of gray, Kurloz’s faith helped him separate the white from the black for long enough to do what needed doing. He didn’t have one answer to all questions, just the tools to break the choice down into something much easier to follow.

For a while, that tool had been his own dancestor. Gamzee was alive. Gamzee was going to the new session. Gamzee had communion with the Mirthful Messiahs. Gamzee was their prophet, their protector, their chosen one. He would be the survivor of all hardship and the one to greet the Angel of Double Death, and to pave the way for his ascension. Finding him, working with him, following his lead and assembling the materials he needed to go forth and fulfill their Lord’s work had filled Kurloz with pride, confidence, and the wicked harshwhimsy.

And then it turned out the timeline had gone wrong somewhere. Some event had been changed sweeps in the past, but rather than creating a doomed offshoot, it suddenly rendered all that had happened doomed. All the work, all the planning, had crackled like an empty bottle of the wicked elixir left to bleach and grow rancid in the brightest of mother fucking suns. Kurloz had met Gamzee again, new and young, and brought him up to speed on what he knew, and learned in turn that the interference of one particular human had brought the shameful defeat down upon him. That windy interloper had empowered the Seer of Mind to cut through those ancestral chucklevoodoos that laid low enemies greater than her, and then Gamzee—the hope of the Messiahs—had been dragged through the humiliation swamp. When Kurloz had met him again, Gamzee was broken, powerless, with nothing to say for it but ‘the spiderbitch is still here.’

When Gamzee had found him this time with a glimmer of hope and strength in his living yellow eyes, Kurloz had wanted to silently sing praises to the Messiahs for this opportunity to turn it all around. He should have saved his jubilation until he had heard what Gamzee wanted of him.

 **_MY RAGE BROTHER, HOW ARE WE GONNA TIME THIS MOTHER FUCKER?_ ** Kurloz pushed his thoughts toward the mind of his dancestor. **_THESE BUBBLES GOT THEIR OWN WICKED WAYS THAT COULD KEEP US ALL APART._ **

“You don’t have any right to question me,” Gamzee said, low and deliberate. Like he in seven sweeps knew more than Kurloz could in eternity. Kurloz trusted that was true.

**_MY UNDERSTAND ON TO THAT FACT IS MOTHER FUCKING CRYSTAL. BUT WHAT IF THIS—_ **

“Shut up. I know what I want, and you’re gonna help me motherfucking do it.”

Gamzee let that order stand as he looked around the memory of the block serving as the setting for this meeting. The edges had decayed as they smushed with hundreds of other bubbles, but Kurloz had been careful to keep one feature of the memory pristine: a deep heap of game cartridges, juggling balls, knee and elbow pads, outgrown clothes, Game Grub magazines, greasepaint tubes, and more tiny treasures that together formed a priceless haven. And he had sent out the message, asking for this sacred place’s other master to come and meet him.

He couldn’t stop the anxious tickle in his fingers about it. He asked again, **_HOW WILL THIS HELP WITH ANY OF THE MOTHER FUCKING SHIT?_ **

“Because I say it will.”

**_HOW?_ **

“I say so. I thought you were putting your faith in the living brother, to make our Lord’s miracles happen.”

**_THAT WAS THE PLAN._ **

“It’s still the plan. And I don’t have to explain myself to you. After this is done, you can go back to procuring some motherfucking miracle-garb, same as last time. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Kurloz let his mind go silent again. At first, he had been excited. Gamzee had need of him, Gamzee had a job for him to do. Then he had learned what that job entailed. Gamzee wanted something that had never been asked of him before, something precious and private that crossed a line he had assumed would never even be approached. He really didn’t see how this would serve the plan in any capacity.

A traitorous thought that Gamzee might be deceiving him did cross Kurloz’s think pan. It was blasphemy to even contemplate that his devoted brother would take action not in service of the ultimate goal. Last time, the plan had been long, slow, and he’d had to wait for a motherfucking eternity within his endless afterlife, but it had at least made progress toward a goal that Kurloz could understand. But after nearly a sweep of nothing, thwarted by a Serket at every turn, Gamzee had a new plan that seemed completely inscrutable to his dancestor.

He shook the idea out of his head. He had to stay focused. Gamzee knew best. Prince would serve Bard until Lord took his rightful place as master of all Paradox Space. That was the plan.

But why did the plan make _this_ necessary?

Kurloz repeated this thought-prayers in a loop, hoping that the dreambubbles would be uncooperative. Maybe the bubble would fall away beneath them. Maybe Gamzee would wake up. Maybe Mituna would miss the message. But for all of his powers to make things impossible to come true, Kurloz could not stop this.

Mituna’s footsteps had never sounded so heavy before. Kurloz closed his eyes and listened to them, dreading his arrival. All the things he had done to wrong those who trusted him ran through his head. Injuries, lies, scheming, manipulation; what was this but another god-awful step down the motherfucking depravity ladder?

When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see Gamzee anymore. But through the power of their shared chucklevoodoos, Kurloz knew his dancestor was still there.

“Kurloz?” Strain on the ‘ur’, lisp on the ‘z’, this was his moirail, plain and simple. And he needed to go to work.

He turned to Mituna and curled his lips up. So motherfucking happy to see him! Mituna matched the expression, suspecting nothing. Knowing nothing. Kurloz was going to keep it that way.

“Fuck yis, the bubbles worked this time. So whutzup? You don’t look like you need feelsing jamming.”

Kurloz shook his head and made some signs with his hands. Mituna’s comprehension of his signing couldn’t match Meulin’s by a long shot, but he could usually grasp a few basic ideas. _No, but I missed you._

“Ehehe, that so fukcing sweet, you missed my pappening so bad, purple palebrup. C’mere, you needy bich.” Those words sounded so affectionate, and usually Mituna’s foul mouth made for the easiest and funniest joke Paradox Space had to offer. But Gamzee didn’t need to see Kurloz shooshed by his moirail.

The Prince of Rage stepped closer, and when Mituna raised his hands, Kurloz intercepted them and lowered them back down to his sides. Mituna struggled a moment, failing to form distinct words to communicate displeasure, before he caught on that Kurloz wanted something else.

“Wait, why are you fliping us? I don’t need pile, I’m here to do you—”

Kurloz made a hum in his throat, air turned into noise by his vocal chords, unshaped by tongue or lips. He lifted one hand to explain. _I want to. I pity you. Please?_ And always with a smile, keep smiling so his moirail wouldn’t notice the flicker of shadow watching them. Mituna sputtered another comment about Kurloz being a stupid romantic as Kurloz placed his hands on Mituna’s cheeks softly. The warmth of his skin passed through Kurloz’s gloves, and with just a little bit of a push, he eased his hands between Mituna’s skull and helmet. With only a few reflexive twitches from the yellowblood, Kurloz removed the headgear and started to fluff Mituna’s flattened curls.

Within a few strokes, Mituna relented. He had nothing to lose from letting Kurloz do this, after all. He let most of his air out in a sigh. “Fine clownfashe. If you’re gonna keep this up then put me us in the bullfshit heap first. We’ll do kinked up stander paps some other time.”

Kurloz graciously bowed and moved closer to their shared pile, rooting around to create space for their bodies and then scooping the random shit back together to cover their legs. Mituna sat nearly on Kurloz’s lap, back pressed against his chest. He felt a small ping of gratitude that this terrible act didn’t have to be any harder. This pose would suit their purposes just fine.

He continued to finger-comb through Mituna’s hair, long and relaxing motions to get a feel for his moirail. Where was his tension? Where was his pain? What could Kurloz do to soothe it away? So many young trolls made the mistake of leaping straight to intimate talk or papping, but Kurloz knew better. He knew the patient way. Keeping up the purring rumble in his chest—the closest sound to shooshing he could produce—Kurloz raked slow trails along Mituna’s head, stopping only to nuzzle him or briefly stroke his cheek and forehead. Too many people forgot the forehead, not because it was necessarily the best place to pacify a troll, but simply because it could stand in such stark contrast to the relief of paps on the cheeks. As they continued, Kurloz drew sighs of surrender out of Mituna, shaky and happy all at once.

**_ARE YOU GETTING THIS, BROTHER?_ **

For half a second, Kurloz could see a face in the shadows: three gray scars, two yellow eyes, and one mouth pulled into a smile.

**_Motherfucking crystal._ **


	9. Change of F8s

Terezi had to say, a third person as part of this research team made everything flow much faster. Vriska continued to rain research from above, shouting Terezi’s name when a volume she needed to catch was about to fall. Terezi could tell in a few sniffs or a lick if this was a book about humans or trolls or Sgrub. Then she passed them to Kankri, having given him the prep that they were most concerned with the Empress of Alternia, Her Imperious Condescension, and anything related to her actions following the destruction of Alternia. Kankri’s pure frosty-white eyes smelled enormous and horrified as Terezi summarized the brutal annihilation of the planet and the ruthlessness of the surviving Condesce, but he swallowed and nodded and set to work speed-reading anything Terezi passed him about Alternian trolls.

After an amount of time that felt something like an hour or two, Vriska had successfully emptied every last library shelf onto the floor in great heaps of satisfying destruction. A few dozen books out of thousands had contained information that might possibly be relevant to their search, and they formed some small skyscrapers on the table they had cleared for scholarly pursuits. Quite a few of those books lay open now, as Kankri looked through their contents and jotted down notes.

Terezi and Vriska pulled up chairs to join him—the Thief of Light swapping her wings and hood for her favorite outfit—when Vriska leaned a little further into Kankri’s space. “Hey, where’s your quirk?”

“My what?”

“You’re not writing with any of the sixes and nines.”

“Why… would I?” He sounded so genuinely confused. Terezi leaned over and took a much bigger sniff, but she could only pick out that Kankri wrote in brashly unapologetic crimson, like his blood and his sweater alike.

“Wow, you really are out of the loop.” Vriska plopped back down in her own chair and picked up her own book. “I never actually got the full story there, but sometime around when Kankri found out about Alternia and Karkat’s sign, he started using it as his quirk.”

Kankri froze mid-page-flip. “Sorry… Karkat?”

“Your dancestor,” Terezi explained. “He’s your descendant, since he’s from Alternia instead of Beforus, but he’s also your ancestor, because time travel. Look for the young ghost full of yelling and that’s him.”

“Is he dead like me?”

“Yes and no. Karkat’s still alive in the alpha timeline, where we’re from. But you’re going to find a multitude of doomed Karkat ghosts throughout these bubbles. Pretty much everyone has a ton of copies of themselves lying around here. It’s quite the enjoyable rumpusblock, if you go with the flow.” 

Terezi had to say, even as someone who already had a much higher tolerance for Kankri’s endless preaching, she found this version of him much more enjoyable. Or maybe she was just relishing being the one who knew far more than anyone else in the room and adoring the sound of her own voice for it; or, stealing Kankri’s job. Still, unlike Alpha Kankri’s phantom, Terezi knew when to pause to let the other person speak. 

“What does this sign look like? I’m sure I’ll recognize any and all Karkats on sight, but I’d like to be able to confirm his identity,” Kankri asked.

Terezi pulled a book closer and flipped to a page with a little blank space on it. Figuring that you couldn’t vandalize a book that was only a memory, she drew the circles and arcs of Karkat’s sign. “Something like that.”

“Thank you… but why this sign? I remember reading about the origins of signs once, and this doesn’t bear any resemblance to any existing symbols.”

“It’s a bit of a gruesome story, actually,” Terezi admitted. She continued doodling a pair of stick-figure arms with spindly hands through the holes, showing the shape of the restraints. Then again, while it was easy to reproduce a familiar symbol like a friend’s sign, adding more artistry to it was a little difficult. She had no idea if the ancestral stick figure had his arms through his irons or not.

Best just start talking, so Kankri didn’t have a chance to comment on her art skills. “Karkat’s ancestor, the Sufferer, was executed in a pair of irons like this. He was trying to make bloody Alternia more like peaceful Beforus, for a lot of very good reasons, but trollkind was too fucked up to let him. As far as we understand it, his followers used the irons to signal their identities to each other, and when it came time for Karkat to hatch, he got to use it as a sign.”

“And why on earth would I want to represent such symbols in my writing?" 

“Kankri’s never confessed to this, but _personally,_ I think he’s trying to appropriate the moral superiority of his Alternian incarnation so that his words always remind people that, once upon a time after his death, he was an amazing social reformer and pretty big deal.” Terezi smiled, put her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on folded hands. “But _you_ would never do anything like that, would you?”

“It sounds like I already have, in a manner of speaking,” Kankri answered. “But it is hard for me to picture the chain of events that would lead to me thinking that’s a good idea.”

“Hey! Less chit-chat, more reading!” Vriska cut in. “I don’t know when Terezi and I are going to wake up, and we need all the information we can get.”

“Since I’m dead, I won’t be waking at all. You could just leave these books with me,” Kankri suggested.

“Yeah, but finding the right Kankri in these bubbles is a pain in the fucking spinal crevice.”

“There are kind of a lot of you,” Terezi explained with a more strained, apologetic smile.

“Reading is really the best use of my abilities, as a ghost who has nothing but time and literacy on my side,” Kankri stated. “But I have to wonder, is it the best use of yours? Were you ever the researchers or historians of your team?”

“Um…” Terezi had to chew that one over a bit. She had never thought of any one of them as holding titles like that specifically. Aradia might be the closest approximation of a historian, with her multitude of doomed selves exploring a wide variety of timelines, but her record stayed pretty private. The titles that really stuck were the ones assigned by the game: Knight of Blood, Seer of Mind, Thief of Light. 

But his question still stood: was sitting around and reading the best use of a Thief of Light and Seer of Mind’s time? 

_Think, Terezi!_

The answer had to be no. But somewhere in this stew of books, there really was critical information that could mean the difference between being prepared and being massacred by unexpected enemies. They used Vriska’s luck and Terezi’s judgment to decide what mattered most, but putting it together…

“Are you okay over there?” Vriska asked. “You look like you’re trying to catch something on fire with your pan.”

“I don’t need your commentary. But Kankri might be right on this one.”

“Which one?”

“That this isn’t the best use of our time.”

“Okay, then what are you proposing?" 

Terezi stood up and stretched her arms. “Let him keep reading, and we’ll catch up with him whenever the horrorterrors think we should. We’ll work on expanding our research team and trying again.”

“Seriously? But how are we going to know when we’ll find a library again?” 

“Can you trust me on this one? I promise, the next time we find a library, with the right help, we’ll learn more in one nap than we have in the last sweep.” 

Vriska smelled put-off, but she sighed. “Fine, whatever! This sleep has probably gone on too long, I think the Knights might have burned the meteor down or something.” 

Terezi smiled back. “Thanks for bearing with me on this. You won’t regret it.” 

“Guess we’re leaving then, Kankri. You’ll catch up sooner or later, and even if you don’t, it won’t really matter. Just do whatever you want then.” Vriska waved a hand at Kankri and started to walk away, but Terezi sniffed a little more. Kankri smelled… self-satisfied? 

“What’s got you so happy, Mister Mature-Red?” Terezi asked.

“I’m simply glad to help. And I’ve finally seen some clearer connections between you and friends I knew once. It’s a little nostalgic.”

“And what exactly have we done that reminded you so much of Latula and Aranea, hmm?” 

Kankri chuckled a little. “It’s more in the mannerisms. I guess you had to be there.”

Terezi placed an offended hand on her chest. “Don’t flaunt your presence-privilege at me, that’s _highly_ offensive, even triggering!”

His mirth froze. “Wait, has it really gotten that bad?”

“I think you have some talking to do with your alternate self. For now, we’ll take our leave." 

Terezi and Vriska turned away from the library and found a door, which apparently led into a corridor of Vriska’s own hive, even though she’d never once had a researchblock that looked like that in her home.

“Would you like to do the wake-up honors?” Terezi asked Vriska.

“What, like killing you?”

“How else would you do it?”

“Wow, it’s like you’ve severely underestimated my power to creatively solve problems. Watch. Or, smell.”

Vriska stopped and faced Terezi directly. Her hand rested on Terezi’s shoulder, heavy and steadying, and she stopped. Then, a flutter of air brushed her face as Vriska’s other hand raised to her temple.

All she said was, “First you, then me” and an instant later Terezi felt her eyelids blinking as her nose sniffed the dull, muddy gray of the meteor’s walls. She touched her shoulder where Vriska had placed her hand, then moved to her temple.

And it was the first time Vriska had ever directly used her powers on her.

Terezi pulled herself out of the plushie pile she had fallen asleep in and crossed the room to Vriska’s station. She looked so peaceful when asleep, like she couldn’t hurt anyone even if she tried. Terezi kind of wanted to curl up beside her and go back to sleep, for the hell of it.

Wait. No. Terezi mashed her own cheeks and then shook out her arms, making her blood flow elsewhere. Then she pulled out her cane. Time for some drubbings.

 

* * *

 

 _Eridan’s gamble failed. His new calling in service of rebels would, pretty predictably, be a never-ending stream of failures, one after another. The week passed and still the Chimeric had yet to show his face, or any sign that he was alive, planning to return, or otherwise still bound to support the rebellion he had founded._  

 _The trolls followed his order to pack up largely in silence. This would mean leaving the_ Absolution _for a time, but its new home in a secret cove met Eridan’s standards, and they would obviously make no more progress camping on a beach in the shadow of some mountains. He could tell the students were satisfied with this change, relieved that their trust in the hemospectrum stayed, if not validated, at least unchallenged. Remembering the Chimeric’s speeches earlier about the need to fight, to kill, and to die for this cause, Eridan sincerely doubted any of the sheltered greenbloods would follow an order that put them at risk. The criminal component looked half defeated and half stunned. When the Chimeric had been in top form, they must have all thought of him as a friend. Now abandoned by that friend, nothing more could keep them here. Eridan expected a number of them to desert as they made their next camp. He wondered if it would be worth putting up watches to try and staunch the bleeding. Probably not._

_With most everything packed, the Tameless made one more attempt to reach out to the Mirthful. She sat next to him, butted her head against his arm, dug her claws into his shirt to try and pull. Nothing too aggressive—a troll of his size would never be moved without his own will—but the possibility that he would be left waiting perigees, seasons, or sweeps for a moirail who would never come was too tragic all around. They had to at least attempt to make him move. The results were predictable._

_“You go on ahead. My motherfucker will be back.”_

_And that was that. Eridan took up cutlass, rifle, and a bag of supplies to lead the way into the forests and hills. Trolls behind him pulled makeshift drag-sleds with the heavy materials and carried the rest. Stubborn lowbloods more committed to the cause than others took heavier, prideful loads, but the hemospectrum was an undertow, pulling everyone back into stereotyped roles._

Fef, how would you handle something like this?

_She wouldn’t do anything. She had built it to be this way. Though a thousand Empresses before her had reigned over trollkind, and Feferi had seen so many improvements to be made, challenging the hemospectrum was at best an afterthought and at worst a distraction. As for trying to predict what the Chimeric would have wanted to do about this, Eridan couldn’t even guess._

_They gradually climbed higher into the foothills, still forested and rather difficult to traverse. They had to call fairly common breaks for the less physically able. Not needing rest, Eridan climbed trees to scout the area ahead, and in one of those lofty branches, he pulled out the Chimeric’s map._

_The globe, beautiful Beforus, spread out before him in ink and text. The Amphibiortress, metropolises, and natural wonders had their names marked clearly. Then the Chimeric had marked a series of circles at random points, all around the globe. Empty deserts, deep valleys, crowded cities, tall peaks. No rhyme or reason to any of it. He could only guess those marked the places where the Chimeric needed to run his ‘errands.’ The nearest marker was a few nights travel inland. Maybe he could set up reconnaissance there, to spend this time productively while still in a holding pattern, awaiting orders._

You’ve made this impossible for us to do without you. What were you thinking, leaving us?

_He folded the map up and swapped it for his spyglass, scanning the distance for a sign of the best route. An easy path would be more agreeable to his makeshift squadron. Doubtless they’d prefer comfort over speed. But while he was calculating the next move, a great flock of flapbeasts nearby squawked and took to the sky, obviously agitated by something in the underbrush. Eridan fixed his glass in that direction and saw branches and leaves rustling… and coming in their direction._

_“Tameless!” Eridan called down. “Gather everyone together, prepare to defend!”_

_“Against what?!” she shouted back._

_“If I knew I’d tell you!”_

_He dropped from one branch to the next until his boots hit dirt. The rebels clustered together, distrust set aside in the face of a threat._

_“Either a beast or a wilderness rangetroll,” Eridan reported. “Anyone with a firearm, form a cluster. Anyone with a sword, stand in front, and_ duck _for the sake a the Mother. If you lot are piss-poor shots, those with blades will be the only reason you survive. Try not to shoot them first.”_

_Scared and serious, everyone clustered together as ordered. Eridan decided to join the firearm squad with Ahab’s Crosshairs pointing in the direction of the disturbance. From its speed earlier, it couldn’t be far. Just a little more…_

_Footsteps echoed through the underbrush. This unexpected visitor was a troll, and they sounded like they were alone. Eridan tightened his grip on his rifle. One single troll should not be a threat, but he wouldn’t be optimistic until he had the fucker face-down on the ground, incapacitated or dead, whichever came first._

_Some thick bushes parted, and as Eridan gazed down the sight of his rifle, he found a familiar set of blazing crimson eyes. He lowered his rifle and saw more: nub horns, red tunic, blue stains, and a very confused expression._

_“What the actual_ hell _is going on here?” the Chimeric asked the fortified company of trolls. “I told you to wait by the beach, near the_ Absolution _, so why in the name of the filthiest slurry-slug in all of Beforus are you here!?”_

_Trolls stammered and whined behind him, but Eridan could feel nothing but relief. No more cowering, no more confusion. Whatever the Chimeric had done had worked. He was here, and he was back in full form. Eridan knew better than to question a stroke of luck like this._

_“We had a few… discussions about the chain of command.” The Deadbeat took up the chance to explain when no one else volunteered. “The Seafarer won the popular vote a week ago, but we gave you until today to get back. Nice timing, by the way.”_

_The Chimeric pressed a hand to his forehead and then dragged it down his face, exasperated and obviously exhausted, but whatever engine gave him the fuel to keep going stayed running strong on nothing but fumes. “Of all the idiotic insubordination I expected, somehow I had assumed you all would have stronger faith than this. Do you know the definition of cowardice? Would anyone who voted to oust me from this ideological revolution like to explain how that decision did_ not _qualify as cowardice?!”_

_Trolls spoke over each other to point fingers and offer excuses, and Eridan smiled. He reached across a few people to touch the Tameless’s shoulder. “Excuse me, would you be so kind as to let the Mirthful know the Chimeric has arrived?”_

  _She stuck her tongue out at his overly formal request, but extracted herself from the rest of the group and sprinted through the foliage back the way they came. The Chimeric silenced the group with a wave of his hand and a fiery scowl._

_“Prepare for some schoolfeeding, you cocoon-wetting wigglers. It’s time we got it straight once and for all what the rules around here are.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to meeeeee...
> 
> I understand the Homestuck fandom is hibernating and this story is probably going in some unexpected directions but I'd appreciate if you said "hi" - no need to say anything else.
> 
> And happy Wednesday to everyone too!


	10. Ancient Alien Vampire Ghost Harlot

The venue was a memory of LOLAR: a small hut, possibly a café, surrounded by small tables with heavy umbrellas that offered a few moments of relief from the sunbeams and precipitation. The chattering turtle at the window of the hut called out that Dave would find no tastier Whatever Turtles Eat on the whole planet, but he passed, since the grub was both unappetizing and not actually real. He did order a memory of someone’s romaine tea, which smelled so strongly of moldy stagnant water Dave didn’t dare taste it.

Under one of the umbrellas, he waited. He felt like he needed to be in some kind of black-and-white noir movie, with a fedora pulled low over his face while he waited for some saucy dame to strut up to him and ask for his help. Tough luck, fictionalized lady, Dave Strider was here for one thing and one thing alone. And that thing actually happened to be a much less fictional lady, who was currently late.

He had to find some way to pass the time, since that turtle in the hut probably wasn’t much for creative conversation. He took a napkin as a piece of paper and started tapping out a beat on the table, hoping inspiration for lyrics would follow, but he felt like he had a traffic jam in his throat and nothing he wanted to say could get out for all the bullshit blocking it. A whole bullshit pileup, with two tractor trailers full of bullshit overturned on the I-5H1T.

And how the hell was he supposed to rap about a bullshit car crash?

Eventually, relief came. The woman of the hour strolled over to his table, her pointy heels and green-trimmed dress not even picking up water in the puddles. That had to be a fun trick of the dreambubbles: never get dirty again. Porrim Maryam finally slid down into the chair opposite Dave and smiled slightly.

“Glad to see the Outer Ring allowed you to make it,” she said.

“You too,” Dave said. “Kinda impressed that my message managed to find you in something approximating a reasonable time.”

“I just think of that as the favor of the horrorterrors and the Alpha Timeline. Whatever you have to talk to me about, it must matter quite a lot.”

“Right. Well, good to know the calamari-damacy monsters think it’s urgent we get to chatting.” Dave fiddled with his otherwise untouched tea. “I know it’s kind of stupid to bring this up to an ancient ghost continuing on for eternity in a dreamscape full of schizophrenic bubbles, but we’ve been on the meteor for barely two years and I feel like it’s getting to me.”

“Getting to you how?”

“Like, seeing the same faces over and over again. Rose, Karkat, Kanaya, Terezi, Vriska. That’s not many people at all, and fuck, I’m related to Rose. Someone filled you in on human familial structures, yeah?”

“Briefly.”

“Cool, anyway, do you have any kind of documented history, like through talking with some ghosty buddies or whatever, of people going completely crazy and trying to like, make out with lamp posts or something because they’ve just flipped their shit?”

Porrim laughed a little and shook her head. “No, can’t say that I have. That sounds like a fascinating phenomenon, though. Has this happened to you?”

“Me? Nah, I’m chill." 

“Someone you know?”

“I don’t think so. Like, I think Kanaya and Rose have finally got their first date scheduled, and about fucking time too, but they’re not any crazier than they usually are.”

“I see. So why bring this up?”

“I’m sort of taking, um, pre-emptive measures, for the precautioning of… stuff… and the chance that we’re all going to be totally insane by the time we arrive in the new session.”

“If the problem is limited social contact, don’t you think Jade and John might be in the same boat, no pun intended? Their population seems limited to themselves and a veritable army of not-that-bright consorts and carapacians.”

“Yeah, I guess so, but that’s all the more reason to develop a cure on our end, so we can bring it to them and get them sorted out stat and then no one has to have any awkward conversations with anyone ever.”

“What kind of awkward conversations?”

“The kind where you could shower for the rest of eternity and the regret will never wash off.”

Porrim folded her arms and leaned on the table. “I still have no idea what you actually called me here for. You said you needed advice, but this sounds like you’re trying to prepare for a mission.”

“Can’t it be both?" 

“Not at the same time. What was the question you wanted to ask me?”

Dave took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than he thought. “What did you. Or your team. Or anyone. What did you do… when… things got awkward." 

“What did we do? Nothing healthy or productive in hindsight. We basically just let it fester until negative feelings and grudges were absolutely insurmountable.”

“That sounds terrible.” 

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to live it. Or continue living it after death.”

“Okay, so I’m going to take that as a note to never fucking do anything that you guys did. But my problem is kind of different. Say there’s this—this dude, who’s not sure about what he feels toward one of his friends. Like, this friend is really important to him, and there’s this… it’s like… like a crossed wire in his brain, which makes him think that… friends isn’t what he wants to be.” 

“Oh, that’s an easy one. You say ‘Karkat, I think I’ve developed flushed feelings for you.’” 

“Who said it was Karkat!? It’s not Karkat!”

Porrim reached across the table and patted Dave’s hand. “Look, it’s okay. I’m not going to tell him or anyone else in these bubbles. Relax.”

“It’s not about getting worked up! It’s that you’re wrong! And—”

“Look, as shocked as you are, I was afraid this conversation was heading once again for ‘hey Porrim, I’m bored, we should hook up’ so there’s literally nothing you could say to faze me.”

For about six seconds, Dave Strider appeared to choke on his own tongue. “…Whu… What do you mean ‘again?’ Have I—have other Daves—?”

“Not you in particular. But I’m no stranger to making my fondness for the company of others known, and with that reputation, other ghosts often approach me to spend a small eternity together, though it’s fairly obvious that they’re simply seeking distraction from some other crushing emptiness. Trust me, you’re cute, but the age difference is a problem and I want to make it clear I’m not interested. So whatever emotional catastrophe you’re faced with, it cannot rival the clusterfuck of soliciting an older alien lady-ghost from another universe for misguided romantic attention.”

Okay, even with every word coming out of Porrim’s mouth sounding more horrifying than the last, her tone smeared itself all over his ears like thick, calming, minty-aloe gel on his nasty blistering shame sunburn. He had to admit, she wasn’t that far off, no Dave should ever have to endure the humiliation of being smacked down by a teenage space MILF. But Dave still had no idea if this meant he was off the hook yet.

“So we’re clear on that, Dave? It’s going to be okay, no matter what you have to say.”

“Alright… Alright. I can do this. Sorry for backflipping off the high dive on you.”

“That actually sounds really entertaining. I might want to see you physically do that, but at another time.”

“I’m not exactly hoping to repeat this feat of acrobatics in any capacity over here, so just consider the next event postponed forever and if it ever happens tickets have already been bought out by the Dave’s Dignity Society, or da-di-sssss…”

Porrim laughed again. “You certainly know how to use your sense of humor to its fullest. But you didn’t want to speak with me about witty jibes and references. You wanted to talk about ‘feeling weird,’ yes?”

“Yeah. Right.” Dave took a deep breath. “And I am really out of my depth here. I just have no fucking clue. About anything.”

“Would it be easier if I did some of the talking, so long as I don’t cut straight to the heart of it?”

“I mean, I guess we can try that.”

Porrim brushed some of her hair behind her shoulder—too slow and classy for a flip, but just as chill and comfortable—and offered Dave a reassuring smile. “Okay then. First, you spend quite a lot of time with Karkat Vantas.”

“Yeah.”

“Second, you enjoy yourself when you’re spending time with him.”

“Mostly—yeah, a lot of the time, I do.”

“Third, you think he’s cute.”

“Now I need you to back up on that one, just put this truck in reverse and let the whole world know you’re beep, beep, backing _away_ from that slander-slinging assertion.”

“Okay, there’s going slow and then there’s stonewalling me. What is wrong with thinking Karkat is cute?”

“He’s a guy.”

“And?”

“So am I!”

“And…?”

“I get that trolls are some kind of omni-sexers who just don’t give a shit about anyone’s gender but humans aren’t like that. Human dudes like human girls and vice-versa.”

“Rose likes Kanaya.”

“I’m not Rose.”

“But why are you so certain that you can’t like boys?” 

“Because I like girls! I know I do, I’ve had like at least four crushes in my life, including one on the kindergarten teacher which is pretty much proof I have got the straights since ectobiological clone-birth and this case of the gays has got to stop.”

“And what exactly does a history of feelings for women prove?”

“That I like girls.”

“Cool. You can like boys too.”

“No way.”

“Look, it’s my understanding that the whole reason you’re talking to me is because you have feelings for Karkat that heavily remind you of romantic feelings you’ve had for ladies. Is _that_ accurate, or are you going to tell me to ‘back up’ again?”

Caught, Dave had to admit defeat. “Yeah, but that’s fucked up. This isn’t right.”

“Why not? And if the only answer you have for me is ‘because,’ then I'll have to ask you to try again.”

Dave reached for the glass of tea, just as something to do, before he remembered the thing smelled nasty and set the glass down again. Porrim needed an answer. Actually, Dave was the one who needed the answer, even though Porrim asked the question. “Okay, it’s kind of like… like a betrayal. Like I’m doing something wrong.”

“Wrong according to who?”

“To Karkat? I’m supposed to be his friend and I’m making this weird.”

“You don’t stop being his friend if you have feelings for him.”

“But what if he doesn’t, like—”

“Dave, these are all the same questions that people have when they have feelings for anyone, no matter who they are. None of this means you’ve betrayed Karkat.”

“Then… it’s against my species. We’re all that’s left and. And Karkat himself is the one who made the fucking shipping grid, so of course he’s gonna—”

“Slow down. Let’s take that first part, that you’re betraying the human species. Propagation does not fall squarely on the shoulders of one person, no matter the species. The same equipment that cloned you and your friends in the first place could easily create a varied human population with no need for anyone to resign themselves to breeding duties.”

“Uh,” he said eloquently.

“Who else do you think you’ve betrayed?”

Dave fell silent again. He wanted to blurt out ‘everyone’ but he knew the instant he did that, Porrim would want names. “...My bro?”

“You don’t sound very certain about that one.”

“I mean, I don’t think he took care of me for as long as he did just for me to turn out gay.”

“Checking up on my facts, your bro functioned as a lusus for you? And he died in the course of your session?”

“Yeah.”

“A lusus’s care isn’t a zero-sum game either. I can’t make any assumptions about who he was as a person, but even if you’re imagining disappointment toward your romantic relationships, one could reasonably theorize that he’d be proud of you for mastering time travel or reaching the god tier or standing by your friends.”

He had a lot of trouble imagining what Bro’s pride looked like. Objectively, he could see Bro offering a subtle, stoic nod of approval when presented with the legendary sword Caledscratch, or the mental map of time loops Dave created in order to perform weeks worth of frog-cloning in a few hours, or how Dave had flown to the rescue when a Dersite agent menaced Rose, or the tale of when Dave got supernova’d into godhood, immortality, and a fresh new pair of becaped jammies.

But those didn’t feel like stoic-nod accomplishments. He wanted something else. Like an apology. Or a hug.

“Maybe my Bro is a whole different set of baggage,” Dave said at last. “Ones the airline dropped down a few flights of stairs and got all dented and ripped but I filed my claim and the overworked attendant just flung up her arms and said ‘sucks to suck, man, it’s not our job to fix your damaged emotions packed in suitcases.'”

“You’re also off-topic again. We can leave your lusus aside on that one and just suffice it to say that situation is complicated enough that your same-sex attractions are the least of your worries in that situation.”

“Please don’t call it my same-sex attractions…”

Porrim made a face that Dave had seen directed at Kankri before: a kind of ‘are you fucking kidding me’ mixed with ‘I made this bed and now I’m lying in it.’ “So what would you call it?”

“I dunno, Puberty 2: The Puberting or something.”

“…How descriptive.”

“Whatever. Is it still Grill Dave On His Gay Thoughts hour?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who wanted to talk some of this stuff out, and you chose me because of my reputation as someone romantically experienced, so what do _you_ want?” An undercurrent of frustration finally showed in Porrim’s voice. “Are you still thinking of this in terms of betrayal, or are you ready to advance beyond that?”

“I… I think I’m ready.”

“Very well. Your next step will be to speak with Karkat about this.”

“Actually I changed my mind there’s something else.”

“Oh my god. Really.”

“Sorry, I just… I thought of something else. Like who I could be betraying.”

“Pray tell, who.”

“It’s like… me. Kind of. Past selves. Former Daves.”

Porrim blinked in surprise, and curiosity eroded much of her ire. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m still trying to figure it out, but… when I brought up those crushes as proof of straightness or whatever, that was a really stupid way of thinking about it. Who cares if I thought the kindergarten teacher was hot before I had a concept of what ‘hot’ was. But some of those feelings mattered. Like, they mattered to who I was. And… am?"

He could feel the ‘go on’ present in Porrim’s stare, but she gave him the silence and space to work it out himself.

“Okay, so. I don’t know how to start with this part. But you know Terezi.”

“Yes, I’ve met her several times. And I’ve met several hers.”

“So you know that she’s really pretty cool. She runs this insane balance between funny and morbid, and she’s easily smarter than the rest of us put together, and her chat faces are cute. So’s her real face, too, and—I like her a lot. We had this big conversation recently about how we should just be friends and not date and I’m really… like, genuinely cool with that. But it made me remember back in the game when she was helping me, and there was all this teasing about whether she liked me or not, and I remember being into it. Like, if me and Terezi did go out or kiss or whatever happens in Karka—um, in the romcoms, that would be a lot of fun.” 

“So I understand this tangent correctly: you are aware of, and fondly regard, former red feelings for Terezi?” 

“Yeah. I think that’s right.”

“Okay.”

“And I… I feel like Jade was in the same boat, too. She sent us pictures every once in awhile, of her room and her island, and sometimes her face, and I thought she looked really pretty. And even though she obviously had no grasp of the ironies whatsoever, talking with her was tons of fun. Like… I did my best to act cool for her, and I got the feeling that she liked that a lot, even when it didn’t work. She liked that I tried, and she didn’t care if I succeeded. And helping her clone frogs, and then fighting Jack with her, she’s badass as she is smart with the genes and the nuclears and… I think I would have been really happy going out with her, too.”

“…Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m not going to press too hard on this, but is there any chance you have a spiel like that about Karkat?”

“Nuh-uh, that’s—" 

“Too fast. I need you to at least _think_ about it. Think about what made you contact me.”

Dave knew it too well. The scene had been looping in his head since it happened. His repurposed room in the lab, pillows and blankets strewn on the ground because he wanted to show Karkat his laptop screen as he cut, looped, layered, and mixed senseless fragments into music. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Karkat nibbled his lower lip, nestled his chin down in his sweater’s neck, drummed his fingers against his leg in time with Dave’s beat. He remembered the hums Karkat made when Dave twisted a particularly interesting rhythm out of the computer, and his nervous suggestions for Dave to do things with the music he didn’t know how to describe: ‘can you make it beat harder there’ or ‘what if it got faster?’ And not every suggestion worked out, but they didn’t need to. It was enough that Dave created something that made Karkat smile just a little. Something that let their shoulders touch. Something that made Dave feel like he wanted to hold Karkat and never let go.

“Do you think you might like him?”

“...Yeah. But I still feel wrong about it.”

“That betrayal feeling you mentioned?”

“Yeah." 

“But how? I really need you to explain this to me.” 

“Because… Did I not give the girls enough of a chance? Would I still like them if, I don’t know, Terezi was into it or if Jade was on the meteor with us? And if I really am gay, then does that mean I was lying to them? Or to myself? Or was the effort like, wasted?”

“You’re spiraling,” Porrim jumped in. “Just stop for a minute and take a deep breath. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Dave breathed as instructed.

“Now don’t _stop_ breathing while I talk.”

He rolled his eyes, but again due to shades, none of that showed. He took one more breath to show off to Porrim that he could follow directions like a fucking big boy.

“If I’m going to be honest, the confusion between who you like and why you like them appears to be a universal constant. My team lived through it in our session, we perpetuate it in our afterlife, our dancestors had to deal with it, and now you. I expect all your dancestors you’re going to meet in the new session will be similarly plagued by confusion. Apparently nothing concupiscent can ever be easy, and we just have to deal with it.

“The only thing I can say is, you need to understand that having a crush on someone of the same gender as you is _not a problem_. You’re in good company. None of the trolls among your cohort will think this is unusual. Rose will understand. From what I know of Jade, she would want you to be happy. And I’ll re-iterate to you, you are not being required to choose an eternal quadrantmate of any kind. If you step on toes, if feelings get hurt, if people don’t understand, I can’t help you with that. But I give you my guarantee as… an ancient alien vampire ghost harlot… that this is not a problem. Having crushes on boys and girls is not a problem. Say that to yourself as many times as you need until it’s true. Lie until it’s true. This is not a problem. You have other problems to work on. This is not a problem. Say that back to me.”

“What?” Dave started a bit, not expecting this lecture to suddenly become participatory.

“Liking two genders is not a problem.”

“But—” 

“What did I _just_ tell you to do?” 

He flinched a little. Christ, weren't Maryams made of infinite motherly patience or something? “This is… not a problem.”

“Liking two genders is not a problem.”

“Right.”

“Say that back to me." 

“Liking two genders is not a problem.” 

“There you go. Whatever it takes for you to believe that. I won’t promise that there won’t be other problems, but _this_ doesn’t have to be one.” 

“This is really not helpful. You’re just giving me a bullshit line and telling me to write it on the chalkboard like Bart in the opening of my very own Simpsons cartoon.” 

“Human cultural allusions aside, anything else I could possibly give you in terms of advice requires you understand that concept. What you really want to know is what to do next, but you have to get over the initial crisis. Gender isn’t what you’re worried about. It’s consequences. And I can’t help you figure out how to deal with those while you’re still paralyzed with… whatever it is you call this.” 

“I think they called it gay panic on earth.” 

“Well, maybe when you’re done with the panic part, come find me again, and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to help with the rest.”

At that, Porrim stood up and walked away from the turtle café, leaving in the direction of another bubble: something that looked like a forest, but with pine and palm trees blended together with no regard for their preferred habitat. Dave stayed behind, staring at the table.

_This is not a problem._

No way, that was total bullshit.

 _It’s not a problem._ He had to keep telling himself that. Lie until it’s true.

Unsatisfied, Dave reached for the tea one more time, this time raising it to his mouth to take a sip. Maybe it wouldn’t be as disgusting as it smelled.

The rancid taste of brine and lettuce insisted otherwise.


	11. The Cardinal Decalogue

_ Gamzee wasn't sure why he prayed anymore. He knew that he no longer believed in the Messiahs who had ruled his life for a century previously. His little bro sure as shit wasn't divine either; the Chimeric had no power to hear and grant his prayers. But if a motherfucker asked him what he was doing, sitting on a beach and staring at a mountain and thinking in a mobius strip about the miracle he longed for, he would have no other word for it but praying. Which left Gamzee with the question: what out there could—or would—answer a damned troll’s cry for his moirail to be released from his pain? _

_ Nothing, explicitly. But he didn’t stop praying. _

_ For someone so faithful, Gamzee didn't believe the Tameless's news at first. He fixed her with a puzzled look on his paint. But the Chimeric was going to meet them on the beach, right? Was this some deception to make Gamzee go with the sacrilegious traitors? _

_ "Mirthful, we don't have time for this! The Chimeric wants to speak to everyone, so I assume he means you too. He sounded so pissed when he saw us leaving—” _

_ And perhaps it was shallow of him, but hearing the Chimeric was raging at the rebels finally got Gamzee off his ass and up the path. The Tameless, slender and spry, darted ahead of him while Gamzee bulldozed through the brush behind her. When he heard a loud and familiar voice, joy filled him and a smile wider than anything he had felt in nearly a perigee broke out on his face. _

He's back.

_ "...And don't think that the rest of you are liberated from the curved entrapment barb either! Your new brothers and sisters were suffering and you ignored their worries? Called them names? No wonder they wanted to go back after the welcome you gave them. And I don't want to hear a single word that you didn't know how to show some basic fucking hospitality, I gave you half a push and suddenly everyone knew how to show friendship to each other. I refuse to accept that you had no idea how to offer even the most pathetic, shriveled peace-tree limb to those students who left hive and safety to reach for freedom with us. Shame! Shame upon all of you and shame on your descendants! No, two broods of descendants! Three if you don't wise up!" _

_ The Tameless brought him closer until he joined the rebel crew once again. The narrow wilderness trail had widened just slightly enough for everyone to form a small crowd. Using trees, branches, supplies, and in a few cases each other as chairs, attention was once again centered on the Chimeric. He showed signs of exhaustion, but Gamzee felt another smile break out on his face. Exhaustion could be solved; some sleep, some food, some good company. Better his little bro be exhausted than dead. _

_ “Are we all here now?” the Chimeric asked, though Gamzee knew that he had probably performed a head-count on arrival and knew that the Tameless and Mirthful were the only ones missing. The Chimeric had nothing to offer his moirail but a nod, which Gamzee happily accepted. There would be time for a real reunion later. _

_ “Did you meet the chimera up there, or whatever you were going to do?” the Deadbeat asked. _

_ “No, and I’ll tell you why, because the chimera is a shifty asshole who can’t be bothered to show up when you want it to and instead crashes in like a spontaneous explosion whenever it fucking pleases,” the Chimeric answered in a familiar snappy and profane cadence. “And while I don’t regret leaving to seek the stupid beast, I learned something far more important without its interference.” _

_ “Something that took you three weeks to learn?” _

_ “Deadbeat, your speaking privileges are revoked until you return your sass to your waste chute where it belongs. There’s a series of critically important topics I need to cover and you are absolutely murdering our time.” _

_ The Chimeric clapped his hands together, shook out his shoulders, and took a deep breath. _

_ “The first thing I need to say to all of you is an apology. I made a choice during our first battle, and it had consequences that I was not prepared to handle. I want to apologize for the fear and uncertainty in the wake of my actions. To take a life is something… heavier than I ever anticipated. I have a new understanding for what those of you who have been forced to do it have endured.” _

_ In a moment, it became easy to tell those who had killed from those who hadn’t. The unstained trolls glanced around nervously, like they wanted to double-check who the Chimeric was addressing. Those who had dipped their hands in living pulse-paint kept their gaze steady. _

_ “While I wouldn’t wish for anyone to ever be in a position that requires them to do what I have done… I cannot guarantee that. Joining us here is asking for two of the greatest sacrifices you could ever make: dying, or killing.” _

_ A greenblooded student raised his head but his neighbor shushed him fast. The Chimeric wasn’t done talking. _

_ “We are fighting a war. War is synonymous with death and all of the grim specters that follow it. But you can have my word here: this will be the last war to ever blight our dear Beforus, and our victory can bring into the world hope for a chance to survive past the most unfathomable catastrophes. I will ask everything of you, more than you have been taught that you have the capacity to give. Rest assured I am asking everything of myself as well. You have my vow, you will not be left alone again.” _

_ The Chimeric let those promises breathe, like a contract between himself and every soul sitting before him. In a strange way, Gamzee felt like it was some past version of his own self that his moirail was addressing, the one who would sacrifice high standing, spiritual fraternity, bodily health and more for the chance to walk with the Chimeric. Everything he had left, he had already given to the Chimeric, and would give for the rest of his span. _

_ “I can see it plain on your faces, that you were not properly warned what you would be joining here. None of you had a true choice; those who sailed on the  _ Lux Volans _ had to fight with me or drown. Those from the Stalwart’s institution had been told to run but not to fight. And before we take any others into our fold, we all need to be clear on three things: what we believe, what we are, and what we will do.” _

_ At a loss, the trolls watched as the Chimeric raised his hands, counting up his fingers, one for each sentence. _

_ “No troll’s needs will be decided for them by an Empress. No troll’s limits will be decided by color. No enemy of ours will be hated, for they are simply ignorant. The trolls who swear to follow freedom are all our allies. Our powers are multiplied through collaboration. Trust is given first and then received. Determination makes strength limitless. Standing tall in the face of fear will grant victory. All who fight with us give their vow to stay. No enemy can triumph over us if we remain committed to the cause.” _

_ Ten statements, like orders, washed through the crowd. They were simple, and they were impossible, all at the same time.  _

_ “Those are the key ideas we need if we are to survive. Each point can be summarized by a single word to make them easier to remember at critical moments. But if we understand what all of those concepts mean, if we can hold tight to them, we can do more than survive. We can win.” _

_ “…Are you going to give us a quiz?” the Deadbeat quipped, in flagrant disregard of the Chimeric’s earlier ban against facetious statements. _

_ But, the joke seem appreciated now. The Chimeric smiled and opened his arms. “No. These are my concepts, but I can’t tell you what they mean to each of you. And they need to mean the same thing to all of us, or else we’ll be subject to infighting and decay worse than what I returned to find tonight. We have our beliefs: liberty, equality, empathy. We have our identity: community, union, trust. We have our actions: strength, courage, loyalty, and commitment to the cause. This is the decalogue that will lead our revolution. When we decide— _ together _ —on the rules underneath those primary concepts, those will govern our day-to-day actions. And when we share those rules with the world, anyone who joins us will have a clear understanding of what it takes to create a new world order.” _

_ “And you’re going to let  _ us  _ write the rest of the rules?” Gamzee recognized the voice of the blasphemous bitch who had thought it was a good idea to abandon the Chimeric in the first place. _

_ “Of course. That’s the second edict; no troll’s limits will be determined by color. Who am I to tell you that you can’t write the laws of a new world? Take your words, speak your truth, and we can work together to find the core that we can all stand together to defend, no matter what. And I want you to keep in mind: these are the edicts that we are going to share with the world.” _

_ “How?” the old captain asked simply. Gamzee could tell she was relieved to hear that the Chimeric finally had a new strategy beyond ‘hide.’ _

_ “I can imagine the Vigilants will be trying to predict our next move. They think we’ll be searching for people who are vulnerable, obviously dissatisfied with culling in the first place. More criminals, edge cases in need of special culling, maybe even contacts from my former social circles. But what we really need is to let people know that they  _ should _ be unsatisfied with culling. We need to spread our message as far and fast as it will go, and then rendezvous with anyone who agrees with what we have to say.” _

_ The Chimeric took a moment to gesture broadly to the group, but slowly enough that he indicated each and every troll. “ _ You  _ will be the authors of our manifesto. And then we are going to find one of the global communication hubs and brute-force this message into every broadcast, every online message, every web forum, everywhere we can send it. And then you’ll see the power your words have on the course of Beforan history.” _

_ The silence continued, this time tinged with awe. The Chimeric stepped back a little and straightened his blood-spattered shirt. “As we start, I will no longer be an author, just your moderator, but our time is not limitless. So, who would like to speak to the first edict: liberty, where no troll’s needs will be decided for them by an Empress. What do you have to say to that?” _

_ For a few moments, the birds and beasts filled the silence. After a minute, someone spoke up: “That sounds… self-explanatory?” _

_ “Great. Now explain it to me.” _

_ “Uh…” Put on the spot, the troll lowered their horns. _

_ “Anyone? Come on, I did not spend six hundred hours at the top of a mountain thinking really hard to discover I am the only one in this rebellion willing to think at all!” _

_ Nostalgia filled Gamzee’s heart, like the wicked elixir poured fizzing and fresh into a cold glass. The Court of the Chimeric was in session. He knew what to do. “That you can’t go guessing what a motherfucker needs to be their wickedest self. But any motherfucker can raise their shout pipe and tell others what they need.” _

_ The Chimeric met Gamzee’s eyes at long last, and as a feeling of finding hive and comfort after sweeps adrift struck him Gamzee couldn’t stop a smile spreading on his face. He saw that smile mirrored back to him. _

_ “Good. Does anyone agree with that?” _

_ A few mumbles of assent. _

_ “Does anyone  _ not _ agree? Whoever speaks up first will get a shiny pebble I found stuck in my shoe on day twenty-one.” _

_ A few trolls snickered, and then the Deadbeat raised his hand. “Sure, I’ll bite.” _

_ “Excellent. You will find the pebble in your shoe when you least expect it. Now, what is your rebuttal?” _

_ “It’s not really a rebuttal, I just want to know how far we’re willing to go on this. Like, are we going to look at a landdweller and wait until they say so that they need help breathing underwater?” _

_ “A very good question! I’ll open that up to the group. Where will we draw this line? What can we assume about people, and what should we wait for them to say?” _

_ And the discussion continued, round and round. The Chimeric stayed more neutral than Gamzee had ever seen him, inviting other people to speak rather than answering questions on his own. And even still, Gamzee knew his tricks too well; with questions alone, he could guide people to the conclusions he wanted them to draw, in favor of freedom, bonds, and the will to fight. After stretches of discussion, the Chimeric knew exactly when to pause and announce a summary of everything that had been addressed so far. Slowly but surely, a consensus began to emerge. _

_ Unfortunately, consensus came slowly. The Chimeric barely managed to find a working draft for the group’s opinion of the first edict before the first rays of dawn filtered through the trees. Everyone would need to make camp, and quickly. In her element, the Tameless again assumed leadership, scouting the best places for them to raise tents and pitch lean-tos. The Seafarer hung back, observant, but otherwise idle. If Gamzee had to guess, he would say the fishy brother was relieved that he no longer had to inhabit a Compasse-like role indistinguishable from the one he had left. _

_ And the Chimeric? _

He’s back.

_ The scarletblood had a large handful of trolls approach him after the discussion closed, each with questions or comments similar to the ones trolls common and noble had asked of the pre-titled Chimeric. Gamzee wondered how the Chimeric did it, filling everyone with so much fire and passion about their life and the directions they wanted it to go. He had to call it a miracle. He had to call himself proud to witness it. _

_ Gradually, he sent away those hoping to continue the conversation. Gamzee could see them spin off with each other, and though the students and fugitives still didn’t mingle, an unspoken apology brewed between them. ‘Sorry for judging you. Sorry for not believing in you. Sorry for accusing you.’ And in this mood, the Chimeric finally turned to Gamzee. _

_ “Sorry for leaving you,” he said, the first words directed only to Gamzee since his return. “I just knew I needed to be alone to sort all of this out, and I must have written sixteen drafts to try and get it right, but we needed this. And I can’t thank you enough for putting up with it.” _

_ “What did you write on?” _

_ “…Excuse me?” _

_ “You said you wrote drafts, and I was getting my curiosities toward the fact that no one sent you with any motherfucking writing utensils, flat or pointy. So how’d you get the writing done?” _

_ The Chimeric shook his head, laughter of his own starting to bubble up inside of him. “Of course that’s the detail you focus on! Not the weeks spent in crushing solitude with my grief and shame, trying to process the meaning of life and death and change all at once? Not on how I rummaged through my think pan and think pot and think kettle on the off-chance I could find some unexamined drop of the chimera’s prophecy that I had previously failed to take into account? Not any of those far more interesting and frankly majestic events from my absence, what you care about is what I wrote on?” _

_ “Well yeah, because I don’t doubt that you found it in your motherfucking soul to solve the unsolvable or riddle out impossible prophecies, but you were never particularly interested in paper-making or stone-carving or anything else you’d use to make writing without the writing stuffs.” _

_ At that moment, the Chimeric took a single step and closed the gap between himself and Gamzee, arms wrapped tight around the big troll’s middle while his face pressed against his chest. _

_ “I missed you, Murfle,” he said. _

_ Gamzee felt like he was crumbling. In moments, every part of him that could be moved molded itself around the Chimeric’s body, offering everything he could: armor to wear, a ladder to climb, a cocoon to sleep in, a servant with a heart full of blood and a diamond full of pity. _

_ “I missed you too,” Gamzee answered. “And if you ever need to find a mountain to climb where you can do your most motherfucking legendary thinking, can you consider using my motherfucking wreck of a body next time?” _

_ The Chimeric squeezed him tighter, and Gamzee never wanted to separate. “I promise.” _


	12. Cleaner Messes

_Maybe Rose is just late._

Kanaya stood at one of the crossroads in the meteor, a place where a steep staircase met with a few long corridors stretching into the stupidly unfathomable meteoric labyrinth. Really, making any sense of the meteor’s geography just felt like a waste of time. She knew a few people had been cataloguing the location of things, but with different motives for what warranted documentation. But there were tons of these little hubs like this. Good places to wait.

_Maybe she got lost…?_

Well, being late and getting lost were kind of the same thing in the furthest ring, with time and space behaving so unpredictably. Maybe from Rose’s perspective, somewhere else on the meteor, she still had hours to go, and Kanaya had arrived early. Should she send Rose a message? But what if she was already on her way, was that clingy? Or obsessive? She should be cool about this, let Rose be Rose and not let her own utterly pathetic history dictate her behavior now with this fresh chance! Rose _liked_ her, she _said_ so, and they were totally clear on the kind of relationship they wanted to have together; now they just needed to explore it.

Kanaya wanted to rub her face, but she had makeup on and didn’t want to smear it. Like enough things weren’t already going wrong.

_Maybe I could message someone else?_

Well, the best solution to this problem had to be the easiest. She pulled out her palmhusk and scrolled through her friend list to choose the most culpable helper.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] is now trolling  gallowsCalibrator [GC]

GA: Hello  
GA: I Dont Mean To Intrude But I Have A Small Question To Ask  
GA: You Wouldnt Happen To Know Where Rose Is Right Now Would You  
GC: NOT P3RSON4LLY NO  
GC: N33D H3LP W1TH TH3 S34RCH?  
GA: Really A Simple Point In The Right Direction Would Be Greatly Appreciated  
GC: Y34H, 1 DON’T TH1NK 1 C4N H3LP ON TH1S ONE  
GG: BUT H3R3’S 4N 1D34, YOU COULD G3T SOM3 H3LP FROM VR1SK4  
CG: PR3TTY SUR3 SH3’S FR33 R1GHT NOW  
GA: That Will Not Be Necessary  
GA: I Was Just Hoping That Since You Had A Hand In Persuading Rose To Make Plans With Me You Would Be Able To Help In Their Implementation  
CG: SORRY, MY PL4N 1S OVER! 4LL 1 R34LLY C4R3D 4BOUT W4S G3TT1NG YOU TWO TOG3TH3R  
CG: TH3 R3ST 1S NON3 OF MY BUS1N3SS  
GA: One Could Say It Was None Of Your Business In The First Place  
GA: But Whatever  
GA: You Wont Help And Can Give Me Nothing More Useful Than Volunteering Vriskas Assistance  
GA: So Im Going To Go  
GC: H4V3 FUN!

Great. How did Terezi think she could just wash her hands of this entire situation? When compared to the multitude of other assholes on their team, and particularly here on the meteor, Terezi managed to present herself as a very neutral party, balanced on the precarious point between likable and loathsome.

Perhaps this was for the best. Even if Terezi did want to help in a more explicit way, Kanaya could easily envision her request transforming into an overly complicated legislacerator roleplay where Terezi and her team of forensic experts took up Kanaya’s missing persons case and gallivanted her around the meteor dusting for prints in random places. Then she would miss her date with Rose for sure.

Well, who else could assist her? She pointedly ignored the blue troll tag and looked at her other options. Dave and Karkat were both set to idle. She decided to try Dave first, given that he seemed to spend more time with Rose on account of them being genetically connected human siblings.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] is now trolling  turntechGodhead [TG]

GA: Hello Dave   
GA: Do You Know Where Rose Is  
TG: im kinda busy  
GA: Really  
GA: With What  
TG: righteous tutelage in the most ancient and respected craft of my species  
TG: djing  
GA: Oh  
GA: I Guess Thats Cool  
GA: But Are You Sure You Havent Seen Rose  
GA: Even In Passing?  
TG: yeah ive seen her dolled up with nowhere to go  
TG: rocking a prom dress for no particular reason unless you know the reason  
TG: its a date isnt it  
TG: no need to answer its totally a date  
TG: anyway mazel tov on that  
TG: she should show up soon shes just working up the nerve  
TG: anyway still busy over here so if you dont mind  
GA: Right  
GA: Thank You

Okay, that was… better? Rose was getting ready. Which meant that she was en route, or preparing to depart, or something of the sort. But surely Rose would have alerted Kanaya if she was going to be delayed, right? At least Kanaya would have had the chance to go back to her chosen respiteblock and continue obsessing over whether or not she was underdressed. Dave had referenced that Rose seemed to be dressed nicely when he had last seen her. Should Kanaya find something to match? Though that brought up the difficult question of Kanaya’s fashion gulf. Her wardrobe leapt from mundane to opulent very quickly. What if all Rose had done was add a flower or some other decoration on her headband, and Kanaya were to show up in a ball gown? What would Rose say? What would she _think_? Would her words have anything to do with her thoughts?

This wasn’t working. Dave’s answer just raised further questions. The possibility that Kanaya would need to find Rose herself grew greater. Even if Rose could not be considered anywhere near ready, at least Kanaya would stop worrying. At least she’d have a chance to tell Rose that she didn’t care what Rose wore—well, actually, Kanaya cared an awful lot about what Rose wore. But not in any sort of conditional, judgmental way! She cared about design and fashion and she cared about Rose so of course those two interests would find common ground in the garments Rose chose to wear. But she was getting sidetracked!

The point was, Kanaya couldn’t imagine anything that would make her less flushed for Rose.

But she didn’t want to go just yet. She had one more person to talk to—Karkat.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] is now trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

GA: Hello Karkat  
GA: I Know Its Been Some Time Since We Spoke But I Would Like To Ask You For A Favor  
CG: WHAT’S UP?  
GA: Have You Seen Rose Recently?  
CG: YEAH, SHE’S RIGHT HERE.  
GA: What  
GA: Where Is Here  
GA: Where Are You  
CG: COMMON ROOM WITH DAVE.  
GA: I Just Messaged Dave With The Same Question And He Did Not Reveal That He Was With Rose  
CG: YEAH WE’RE PRETTY MUCH IGNORING HER. DAVE AND I HAD PLANS THAT HE’D TEACH ME HOW TO ‘MIX’ SO WE’RE DOING OUR OWN THING ON ONE SIDE OF THE TABLE WHILE ROSE GUZZLES HUMAN SOPORIFICS  
GA: She  
GA: Shes Drinking  
CG: SHE’S BEING CAGEY ABOUT IT, BUT WHAT ELSE IS NEW? THOUGH SINCE THESE SOPORIFICS SEEM TO RAM A THUNDERING TUSKBEAST INTO HER ABILITY TO PLAY MIND GAMES, IT’S EASIER TO GET OUT OF THIS CAGE THAN AN ESCAPEOLOGIST.  
CG: OR MORE LIKE, THE ESCAPEOLOGIST IS GETTING OUT OF THE CAGE, AND I’M GETTING OUT OF THE MIND GAMES.  
GA: Um  
CG: FUCK, SORRY. DAVE’S RAMBLING A LOT AND IT’S KIND OF RUBBING OFF ON ME.  
GA: No Thats Fine  
GA: But Do You Understand Why She Decided To Do This?  
CG: NERVES, SHE SAID. BUT WE’VE BOTH SEEN THAT IT DOESN’T TAKE MUCH OF THIS STUFF TO MAKE HER LOOSEN UP.  
CG: SHE’S HAD AT LEAST TWO BOTTLES SINCE DAVE AND I SET UP CAMP HERE, SO SHE’S CATAPULTED HERSELF OFF OF NERVES AND INTO THE DEEP END OF STUPID AND SLUGGISH INEBRIATION.  
CG: DO YOU NEED ME TO TELL HER YOU WANT TO SEE HER?  
GA: No  
GA: Ill Be There In A Moment  
GA: Have Fun With Dave  
CG: THANKS.  


Kanaya closed Trollian and put her handheld device away. Then she leaned back against the wall behind her and slid to the floor, knees folded up to her chest.

_I’m so stupid._

Rose felt flushed for Kanaya, who felt the same. That was a first in Kanaya’s life that could not be downplayed. But since Rose mattered to Kanaya, somewhere along the line, Kanaya developed the assumption that she mattered to Rose too. That was what it meant for two people to have reciprocated romantic emotions toward each other, right? Or did Kanaya misunderstand how romance worked?

Tears burned at the bottoms of her eyes. She spent about three seconds fighting it back before deciding, _fuck it_. Who cared about her makeup? Rose evidently didn’t. Even assuming that the depth of her flushed feelings were genuine, Rose didn’t care about Kanaya’s time, her effort, her feelings. She couldn’t hold her own life together long enough to at least pretend that Kanaya mattered to her.

And the worst part of it all, Kanaya knew her feelings for Rose wouldn’t change.

_I’m so, so stupid…_

Back before Rose had started making herself sick with these terrible liquids, she and Kanaya'd had conversations about the concept of motherhood. Where humanity prized it as an individual bond of unconditional love between a progenitor and offspring, trollkind revered the sacrifice of the jadeblooded caste to live in caverns for their entire lives in order to ensure healthy broods. But the one trait they found in common between these two cultural systems was that those who gave life to others were almost perpetually undervalued and disrespected.

Maybe that just meant it was always Kanaya’s fate to feel like this. The new session was a long half-sweep away, and so were her hopes of creating a new matriorb somehow. Maybe this was her reminder to forget about wishing for any kind of fulfilling romantic relationship. Focus on what she needed to do. Forget about the rest. She’d love Rose, maybe Rose would love her enough to give her the time of night, and they’d both continue on their merry. Fucking. Way.

Kanaya’s weeping turned into gross sobbing. Her shoulders heaved and her lungs burned and a dull, heavy pressure started to weigh inside of her head, right between her eyes. With the floodgates opened, everything even remotely resembling a negative thought charged forth to tear her to shreds. Things like how Kanaya was an idiot for believing anyone would ever be truly flushed for her. Or that anyone would care about her outside of her maternal meddling and subordinate gullibility.

_The Grim Auxiliatrix, destined to be a sorrowful supporter forever._

Kanaya grabbed a corner of her skirt and wiped at her cheeks with it. Whatever chemicals made tears different than ordinary water, they felt disgusting and wallowing in them was making her feel worse. Besides, she should be having this self-deprecating pity party in private, where no one would see her—

—like Vriska.

When Kanaya saw her, she froze, mid-swipe at her blotchy, smeared face. Vriska had frozen too, almost mid-step, with her hands casually in her pockets like she was just having a stroll.

“H-How long have you been there?” Kanaya choked, struggling to make her voice sound right.

“Long enough,” Vriska answered, before turning on her heel and going back the way she came.

“Hang on—Vriska! Vriska, where are you going?!”

“To clean up a mess!” Vriska called over her shoulder.

“No, wait! Just wait, I can… um…” Kanaya struggled to get to her feet, and once she did, she realized she looked as awful as she felt. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Vriska was probably off to tell people, Rose in particular, ‘you won’t believe where I found Kanaya!’ and if Kanaya wanted any hope of refuting the story that she had been bawling her eyes out on the floor of the hallway, she needed to look less the part. She needed a new skirt, she needed a rag, why had she fallen out of the habit of keeping at least five backup rags in her sylladex?! And every second she fiddled with the settings of her remote wardrobifier, Vriska got further and further away.

“What are you going to do!?” Kanaya called after her, finally deciding that this skirt was destined for raghood and tearing off a strip to clean her face. “Vriska! I don’t need you to interfere! Stop!”

Telling Vriska Serket to stop was like telling the sun to not rise. 

 

* * *

 

_This is not a problem._

Dave had no idea how he would get used to saying that to himself. He remembered this dumb blonde joke he had heard during his stint in middle school about a blonde who needed to wear headphones telling her to breathe or she’d forget and keel over dead. And Dave had similarly colored follicles, auditory accessories shoved in his ears, and the mantra like need to remind himself of some supposedly basic life lesson.

That joke was getting a little fucking unsettling.

_Don’t worry. It’s not a problem._

He tried to make the voice sound as much like Porrim as he could, like a personal angel on his shoulder while he sat with Karkat, a laptop and turntables before them respectively, and a single set of earbuds shared between them. The corresponding devil didn’t have a form or voice, just a kind of sustained low-key scream that he tried to drown out with music.

Karkat was a total newbie. His mixing was like a newborn foal trying to run, or a puppy getting scared by his first howl, or what the fuck he should cool it with the adorable baby animal references. It was already bad enough to glance over and see Karkat biting his lower lip in concentration, like an angry fuzzball left tragically un-cuddled.

_What the fuck Dave, what the actual, ever-loving, fucking fucked up hell—_

He took a deep breath and stuck with Porrim’s prescription. _This is not a problem._ Finding Karkat cute wasn’t a problem. Jack Noir, the voided-out new session, the ambiguously threatening Troll Queen, recovering the Froggie Universe: _those_ counted as problems. Whether Dave flew off into battle after giving Karkat a bro-hug or a gross, fat lip-smack was so far from a problem it was laughable. Ha ha. See? Laughable! Ha ha ha! Ah ha ha ha!

Karkat nudged him with the sharpest tip of his elbow, shooting Dave’s unsnuggled puff metaphor in the foot. “What are you laughing at?”

“…That was out loud?”

“Yeah, is it something I did? Am I doing this wrong?”

“No, man, you’re fine. I just thought of a dumb blonde joke.”

“A dumb what now?”

“Y’know, blonde.” Dave raised up a hand and fluffed some of his hair. “When your head looks like this.”

The troll shook his head and looked back to the turntables, muttering, “There _would_ be jokes about how dumb you are,” as he touched a few buttons to change the settings and mix a new loop. Dave looked back to the computer, but stole a glance at Karkat’s hair again. His hair looked black, but it made Dave wonder if trolls were like the Inuit or something with a million words for the shades of their troll hair. Jet, onyx, inky, coal, void, obsidian, sooty, starless, midnight…

_Sluuuuurp._

Oh yeah, Rose was here too.

She had been quieter earlier, when Dave and Karkat arrived and set up shop, but the more booze she finished the less she seemed able to control her own passive volume. Dave kind of wanted to say something, after that conversation with Latula, but what could he do? He was fighting his own problems here. He couldn’t expect himself to not freak out about being maybe-gay and handle his paradox sister’s drinking problem at the same time, right? And so long as Rose wasn’t falling down stairs and hurting herself he could let this go.

A message from Kanaya pestered him on the computer, asking about Rose and unconvincingly lying about how she and Rose totally did not have a date all set up. It put Rose’s drinking into a new context, and Dave just reassured Kanaya she’d be there soon and focused back on what he was doing. He and Karkat fell back into their pattern, making a rickety song together: Dave took a sample and assigned it to one of Karkat’s disks, which he used to speed up, slow down, or skip a new rhythm into it, which got put back into Dave’s computer for more layering.

“Feeling like a cool kid yet?” Dave joked.

Karkat snorted and grinned, and thank fuck Dave was sitting down cuz he was pretty sure that look could’ve maybe possibly made him weak in the knees. “I can definitely see how an asshole would think this makes him cool.”

“Luckily, you’re an asshole.”

“Shut up, Strider.” But he was still smiling. And Dave might have been smiling too.

Karkat’s pocket made a buzzy noise and he swore, pulling his palmhusk out to answer a message. He seemed to have a harder time ending the conversation than Dave had, but eventually managed to set it aside. Dave had to wonder who he was talking to, but he didn’t wonder hard enough to ask. Karkat jumped right back into it, asking Dave’s opinion of why two beats couldn’t get mixed together, which meant Dave had to explain to him exactly how they were discordant as fuck. But he liked both of them, so what the hell man, fine, maybe if you chopped the second one up and used it as an accent.

“Heeeeeeeey, look at this! It’s all of my _favorite_ teammates, all in one place!”

Dave looked up as Vriska entered the room, feeling like he was out at the pool having fun when suddenly he heard a peal of thunder and he knew the lifeguard was seconds away from declaring the pool closed due to threat of lightning. God _dammit_ , why did Vriska, ruiner of all things, have to show up _now_? He was in the groove, Karkat was having fun, what the hell?

Only Rose verbally acknowledged her arrival. “Wheeeey hellew,” she slurred, then hiccuped. “Sarry, Immean... hello.”

Dave couldn’t suppress a rush of gratitude that Rose had drunkenly chosen to fall on the Vriska-grenade. With her existence acknowledged, Spider Troll approached Rose, a too-wide smile showing off her fangs.

“What have we heeeeeeeere? You look really awesome right now, Rose. Light players really do have the best color scheme, don’t we? You make it look _great_ as a fancy dress.”

“Awww, thanksh!” Rose beamed with a big, red, drunk blush on her cheeks. “See, we know it’s entierbley pawshible for god tiers to war whatebber the fcuk they want, and then the consince manifesting of the pajamas is supplesed to show up as the same outfit every tiem… but then I though liek reeally hard, and I managed to get a dress! I was like, my own fairy godmoffer!”

Rose laughed, and Vriska started to laugh too, but it had an odd tone to it. It wasn’t forced, but Vriska wasn’t laughing at the same thing as Rose.

“That’s so cool! Maybe I’ll want to make a few modifications to my Thief gear. I just have one quick question for you first.”

“Shore, whut?”

Dave saw Vriska raise her arm, and froze solid. He knew what was coming and something in his mind fucked up his depth perception and made her hand look very, very close, close enough to hit him. Which meant, in his seized-up stupor, he did nothing as Vriska swung down and slapped the mug of wine right out of Rose’s hand.

“ _WHAT THE_ FUCK _DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?_ ”

Karkat leapt to his feet, and the troll’s motion made it possible for Dave’s legs to get with the program. They both had a table between themselves and the girls, but Vriska only chased the mug and stomped it into ceramic shards. It didn’t look like she actually wanted to start a fight with Rose, even with all the screaming.

“Do you know where I found Kanaya?! _Sobbing_ in a dingy hallway! And what are _you_ doing while she’s having a meltdown, huh!? Transfusing soporifics into your fucking bloodstream via your stupid protein chute! Jegus, you have to realize how stupid you look when you do this! You’re a hero! A god tier! Why the fuck aren’t you acting like it?!”

Rose wasn't meeting Vriska’s eyes. She just curled in on herself and brushed her hair aside, ashamed. Dave wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Is this because it’s too _hard_ to be a hero? Do you wish you were a little pupa, back with your lusus taking care of you? Well let me ask you, did your lusus _die_ for you to turn into a loser who can’t function without soporifics?! She died so you can finish her work! And how are you supposed to finish what she started if you make yourself too sick to speak!?”

In the shadow of the doorway, Kanaya appeared, and she even took a few steps into the room before stopping. Even she looked unable to stop this storm.

“Is it not enough for you to shape up for Kanaya’s sake? Well, what about _Jade_!? What about _John_?!” Vriska stamped twice more on the broken mug, taking her rage out on the former beverage container. “You think they worked as hard as they did for you to check the fuck out of the rest of the game? You think you can just crawl under a rock and wait for the rest of us to win the day for you!? That’s not how this works!”

Karkat, of all people, found his voice first. “Vriska, just calm down—”

“None of your business, Vantas! Rose has had this coming for a long time!” Vriska shut him down. “Maybe it’s a mistake to yell at her, but you know what? This is a mistake that can get _fixed_! You know what can’t be fixed, Lalonde? If you make a stupid, selfish choice, someone you care about dies, and you could have stopped it, but you _didn’t_! You need to get your head out of your own fucking waste chute long enough to realize that you’re hurting the very people you’re fighting for! Do I make myself clear?!”

Rose said nothing. Vriska finally seemed out of steam, and after a few moments, Kanaya filled the silence.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Kanaya said, gaze leveled on Vriska. “Leave Rose, and leave me, alone. Am I clear?”

Vriska rolled her eyes and threw up her hands like she was surrendering. “Fiiiiiiiine! Sorry, I forgot you’ve cornered the market on meddling! Because you were tooooooootally about to tell Rose the same thing.”

“That is none of your business!”

“No no, you’re right! I’ll just go back to my block and let you have your date with your pathetic mess in a dress. I’m sure you both will just blow the roof off of how much fun two flushed floozies can have together. Be my _fucking_ guest!”

“Maybe we will! Just go away first!" 

“W-Wait…” Rose spoke up, her voice barely more than a croak. “We should… reschedule. I’m… sorry, Kanaya.”

“No, we don’t have to, it doesn’t matter what we do, I just—”

“She’s right.” Rose cut her off. “You dezerv… better.”

Vriska stepped between Kanaya and Rose, showboating her victory around. “See, of course I’m right! You don’t wanna go on a date with some stupid human who can’t even keep her shit together! Let’s go do something else. Hey, you’ve been to the core of this meteor, right? How about we go exploring, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you!”

Vriska and Kanaya’s bickering faded as the Thief ushered the Sylph out of the room in spite of her protests. Dave turned to Rose, then to Karkat.

“Um…” What was he supposed to say? Sorry? Where were we?

Karkat decided before Dave did. “I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I… look, we can pick this up again later. This stuff is really cool, I swear. I’m glad we did this. I just think I should go.”

“Oh.” Dave scuffed his shoe a little. “Okay then. I guess we’ll be in touch?”

“Sure thing.”

Then Karkat went the way of the ladies, off to his block or wherever else he wanted to be on the meteor right now. Dave cleaned up in an instant, stuffing the turntable and computer into his sylladex, which just left him and Rose. She still hadn’t moved since Vriska left, still hunched over like she was crying, but he couldn’t hear if she was.

What the hell.

“Hey. Rose.” Dave reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Uh, sorry about that. Vriska, what is she good for?”

“She’s still right,” Rose responded.

“Right or not, you can’t just keep sitting here. Need help back to your room?”

She took a breath, and maybe she was going to say something, but then Rose nodded. Dave leaned down and let Rose slide her arm over his shoulders, letting her lean on him as they walked away from the common room, the empty bottles, and the poor, dead mug.


	13. Secret Missions

_“…See, this is why I think that ‘strength’ is still the best word to use as the summary for the seventh edict. It has a lot of layers in it that are really effective. When you read through the memo we wrote together explaining it, we make it very clear that strength is more equated to power, and that’s the ability to act. Determination creates an ability to act! We don’t need you to be strong enough to throw boulders, just determined enough to find a fulcrum that can move them instead. Plus, using ‘strength’ as the summary sends a bigger message to our opponents, which connects to the third edict, empathy. If we can convince them we’re strong, then we can avoid a lot of fights before they begin.”_

_“Good, Beguiler. So, should we call this matter closed?”_

_Another troll raised a hand. “Actually…”_

_And so the discussion continued. The debate had been going on for weeks now. The Chimeric had successfully rounded everyone up onto the_ Absolution _again and pointed Eridan on a new course, and then kept everyone talking with each other, acting as a kind of omni-auspistice and educator all in one. The bonds that had failed to form before took shape, forged in his fiery language and iron conviction. He encouraged so much conversation between these new groups and cliques that after a week of sailing, at least half of their number had lost their voices completely and could only whisper their way to recovery._

_Eridan was getting a little bit sick of it. All of this debate and compromise had been one of a multitude of his complaints regarding his former position as right hand to the Compasse. He agreed completely with the Chimeric’s conceit, that everyone needed a thorough understanding of each other in order to fight together, but he wished it didn’t involve so much noise._

_He did find it tolerable when these warmbloods approached him to ask about his past adventures. Even if they were only put up to it in order to ‘understand his worldview,’ he found it surprisingly enjoyable._

_Before everyone knew it, the_ Absolution _had been sailed through a narrow channel to a more protected inlet, someplace where they could reasonably expect to hide a destroyer galleon for the long term. They were still talking. Then the Chimeric had led them around a few hills onto the outskirts of yet another town, and they were still talking._

_“I think we can finalize that under the ninth edict, loyalty, we can introduce a kind of screening system. When more trolls run away with us, we’ll speak with them and work with them for a few nights so they know that once they come to the central hub, they’re with us for life.”_

_“Agreed.”_

_“Hang on…”_

_By now, a few conversational leaders other than the Chimeric had emerged. The Captain, the Initiate, the Finagler. The Deadbeat stayed far more involved in the process than his name would suggest, though he played a kind of perpetual devil’s advocate and tore down more solutions than he offered. But, that gave the Chimeric the freedom he needed to meet with Eridan and continue discussing the next steps._

_“This is the data center I want to target.” He pointed to a compound on a stolen map of the nearby town. “It looks like there’s a perch on a nearby building where I’d like you stationed.”_

_“Will you let me fire instead a goin’ off on your own?”_

_“There should be much more rifle fire this time. This building has two halves to it. The guards’ respite blocks are in this barracks, and I think you can dissuade any reinforcements from opposing us with some flashy lasers around the door. It takes incredible aim to not hit anything, Seafarer. Are you up for the task?”_

_“Obviously,” he said. “So the rest a you are just stormin' in?”_

_“That’s the essentials of it. We are not trained soldiers; we are terrorists. It’s an ugly word but an accurate one, since the strongest weapon we have at our disposal is fear. I’ve proven that we are willing to kill, so any other bluffs will prove more effective in the future.”_

_“At least our escape will be simpler, since no new recruits are joinin’ us here. How are you going to distribute the decalogue?”_

_The Chimeric handed a half-sheet of paper to the Seafarer with a few rows of text. “This is the worm. We’ll introduce a virus into the system that electronic messages use to route themselves. Every single message, from high imperial correspondence to low back-alley chain letters, will have a copy of the decalogue piggybacking on it. Then infected machines will attach the decalogue to all other contacts originating from that computer. The virus should cover all of Beforus in a matter of hours, and prove very difficult to scrub.”_

_“Who wrote this?”_

_“I did, you ass.”_

_“What, so you’re a computer programmer, a Guardian, and a revolutionary? I would accuse you a embelishin’ your record to impress me.”_

_“Remember the API? One of their delegates taught me coding when I was around seven. In return, I introduced them to the Compasse.”_

_Eridan had to focus, but the memory came when called. “Those honey hippies, wanting their own commune?”_

_“Only an unprecedented experiment in same-color culling, but sure, call them hippies. Easily the most brilliant intellects of our age gathered in a single hive.”_

_“And what about them being so good at technology? Won’t they stop your worm?”_

_“You could also think of it as a weed. It’s going to spread too fast and have roots too deep in other systems to be easily untangled. The API are almost guaranteed to be the ones to solve the problem, but not before every computer-user on Beforus has had a chance to open, read, save, and distribute the decalogue on their own.”_

_“Fine then. Besides, they aren’t even based on this continent, are they?”_

_“That they aren’t. So, the plan is secure. Any other questions?”_

_“Just one.” Eridan pulled out the master map, the one the Chimeric had marked with red X’s, and unfurled it. “This town is one of the locations you marked early on. Care to explain why?”_

_“It’s one of my errands, yes.”_

_“And what does this errand entail?”_

_The Chimeric straightened his spine, raising himself taller. Eridan was still above him, in blood and height, but the Chimeric stood and spoke like he had the authority of millennia behind him._

_“That information is irrelevant to your role in this attack. These errands are my problem alone. I will involve no one, and jeopardize no one. The mission is to break into the data center and introduce the worm, with the decalogue, into the internet. That’s all.”_

_Eridan nodded. He had no idea what the Chimeric was really up to with this scheme, but he found it fairly easy to let go. He still had the Chimeric to thank for freeing him from the tangles of his own poisonous relationship with the Compasse. It would just be his job to challenge the Chimeric if he ever had an insufficient tactical reason to bring the rebel forces to help with his errands._

_It was a bit lucky the discussions took as much time as they did. It gave the rebellion as a whole the chance to resupply, pick up new weapons, find more blueprints, and then finally—Eridan could not emphasize how_ finally _—create the final document for distribution. The seadweller had never expected a stack of papers written in the Chimeric’s neutral black-inked hand to look so beautiful. Maybe the people around it made the difference, as they smiled and stood arm-in-arm, like those hundred trolls had all given a part of their genetic code to a single, beautiful, perfect wiggler._

_They each took a turn to touch it before taking their positions for the fight. Eridan laid his hand on the cover page, smirking at the title._

 

THE DECALOGUE OF EQUALITY

_WITH MEMORANDA_

 

* * *

 

Karkat knew the way to Gamzee’s nest by now. He started leaving the cover off the vent in his own room, to see if he could entice Gamzee onto his own turf, but that plan hadn’t borne fruit yet. Right now, Karkat didn’t care that Gamzee hadn’t come to him. After the explosion of drama in the common room, he actually preferred the chance to get off the meteor’s grid.

Rights, lefts, ups, downs, and then with two turns left before arrival, Karkat stopped to bang on the vent wall. He had gotten into the habit of signaling when he was coming so Gamzee could decide if he was going to be a visible or hidden piece of shit. Karkat just figured it was a common courtesy, especially since Gamzee might not expect him, and if he got startled, that could cause more harm than good. Then, Karkat pulled himself the rest of the way into the nest.

Gamzee was doing a fucking awful job keeping his nest clean after Karkat had gone to all of that effort to try and purge all the disgusting refuse, but he at least kept the approximate stacks of stuff in order. When Karkat entered, he could see Gamzee perched atop the heap of miscellaneous clown possessions, folded up like a pupa. He looked up at Karkat, and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Hey,” Karkat said. “Is it alright if I chill here for a while? There’s some bullshit going down in the rest of the meteor. Vriska took a metaphorical baseball bat to the hive window and… and I don’t want to be around that.”

Gamzee tilted his head to the side, the smile inverting.

“Did you hear any of what happened?”

He shook his head.

“Well, Rose… Rose. You’ve probably seen her drinking some shit she made with the alchemiter and I guess it’s a huge problem for humans to drink as much of that stuff as she does. I don’t know much about the exact timeline, but after our session and all of the timeline management we had to do there it’s kind of a breeze.” He laughed a little, but the raw screams and painful feelings still followed him. “Rose overdrank and forgot her first date with Kanaya, which Vriska took it upon herself to avenge or something. She dragged Rose through the torment fields over her drinking, and even I can’t deny it’s what she needed to hear. But it was ugly to watch.”

Karkat moved over toward the clothes pile again, taking a seat on top and looking at his feet. “So… I hope it’s okay if I stay here a while. I won’t interrupt what you were up to, I’d just… rather be here.”

He fell silent and resumed staring at his shoes. Oh, come to think of it, he shouldn’t wear his shoes when sitting on a pile of Gamzee’s clothing. The clown seemed to have enough trouble with hygiene maintenance without Karkat adding meteor floor grunge to it. So he put his shoes on the floor near the vent, and resumed the position, cross-legged and staring at his toes, listening to the air whooshing through the space.

“I don’t blame her.”

Karkat jerked his head up and stared at Gamzee. He had just _spoken_ , for the first time since Karkat had reached out to him. It hit Karkat how long it had been since he heard Gamzee’s—real Gamzee’s, _his_ Gamzee’s—voice.

“What?”

“When there’s something too motherfucking hard to carry, and there’s some elixir that helps you put it down…” His voice pitched lower than Karkat remembered, deeper, but not big. He had that same up-down lilt in his speech, just like before, but with shallower swings. “I don’t blame the witchy Seer-bitch one motherfucking bit.”

Karkat couldn’t do anything but stare. Of course, those drinks were soporifics, in the same family as the toxins Gamzee used to bake into pies and scarf down by the dozen. Gamzee knew what it was like to be addicted to sopors. He knew how hard this had to be on Rose.

“I know. I don’t blame her either. Maybe you could talk to her. Y’know, help her get through this?”

Gamzee shrank back and shook his head. “She wouldn’t be having none of that noise, I know,” he said. “Only motherfucker in this whole motherfucking rock to be taking pity on me is you.”

“That’s not… I mean, I could get it set up as a kind of soporific support group or some bullshit like that, maybe that would—” Gamzee started to laugh, and Karkat stopped that train of thought. “What’s so funny?”

“You, my motherfucker,” he said. “You came crawling in here wanting a space for yourself after witnessing some raucous noise, and a minute later start plotting out more ways to fix all these broken-up motherfuckers around you. That’s what you’ve always been, the motherfucker pouring out his own blood for every other motherfucker.”

Karkat resumed studying his feet, kind of shocked by how… different Gamzee sounded. Was it just because he was older? Was he still the same person he was before everything went to shit?

“Thinking it’s about time another motherfucker poured out for you.”

A chill ran down Karkat’s spine. Blood being the metaphor in question suddenly made Karkat wonder if one or both of them was about to have a stray sword plunged into a critical artery. “What do you mean by that?”

Gamzee eased off the top of his pile, climbing down in a kind of crab-walk, and then started to ascend Karkat’s on all fours. The scars on his face flashed like thin strips of reflective tape, but his eyes were lidded again, like the expression he always wore before he turned into terror incarnate… And he was closer now, so much closer…

“Wait, Gamzee—I just want to chill here for a fraction of a fucking second, you don’t have to—”

The flat of Gamzee’s hand rested on Karkat’s cheek, cool and firm and far smoother than he would have expected. He tried to lean back, away, anywhere, but Gamzee stayed so close to him.

“Can’t I help a brother into his motherfucking chill?” he murmured. “You don’t need me to clean your block or keep you company… but maybe I can do this for you.”

Gamzee lifted and papped his hand just slightly, light and almost fluttery. Karkat’s heart picked up the slack, punching his ribs and screaming. What the _fuck_ , what the _fuck_ was happening, Gamzee was—he wanted to—he was trying—he was going to… No two thoughts could connect to each other, leaving Karkat stunned and sputtering on the pile.

“Please… just one more favor,” Gamzee told him, hesitating. “Help me remember how to touch a motherfucker with gentleness. Just this once. Please, motherfucker.”

One thought finally clicked together: _help_. Karkat looked at Gamzee, makeup cracking at the edges and smudged around his eyes, and even with those scars on his face he looked _tired_. If Karkat looked past the old wounds, he could almost see his friend.

After another moment, Karkat let his eyes close, and he nodded. He felt Gamzee’s other hand come to his face, holding it gentle and secure. This was more for Gamzee’s sake than his own right now. Let him feel useful, connect him to normal, decent things like caring about someone’s feelings. And he could just let it happen. If Gamzee was the one taking the lead, then Karkat really didn’t have to do anything! It wasn’t like a real feelings jam, he could just…

Gamzee slid one hand behind his ear and up to the back of his head. Fingernails brushed Karkat’s scalp and nearly made him shudder. That felt _entirely_ too good, like the first anaesthetic balm administered onto a gaping wound that Karkat had just gotten used to living with. The more Gamzee repeated the motion, the more Karkat shivered. It didn’t help that the air flowing through the vents made it cold, even with his sweater. Was it always this cold here?

“Shhh…” Gamzee breathed, and Karkat felt his world tilt. Was he getting pushed back? No, it felt like to the side… or forward? By the time it settled, Karkat tried to open his eyes to get his bearings, but Gamzee placed a hand on his forehead, and his arm covered his view. Okay, Karkat could deal with that, especially since the strokes through his hair didn’t stop. He let his eyelids rest again while Gamzee kept it up, small shooshes coming from somewhere behind him.

“Never learned how to relax, my brother,” Gamzee said at last. “Gotta find that motherfucking chill somehow, else you’ll snap. If you snap, this whole meteor is going the motherfuck down.”

“Unlikely,” Karkat muttered. “Vriska’s running the show right now.”

“Maybe. But I don’t see Spiderbitch letting her team heal. She’s just breaking hive windows, like you said.”

“Ruined hanging out with Dave.” Did he really say that so easily, and with so much regret? Was this actually going to be a feelings jam instead of just a papping jam? Hang on, that was too much, he should just keep his mouth shut—

But that was really hard to do when a hand moved to touch his cheek and he couldn’t stop a gasp.

“She can’t ruin this. Won’t let her.”

Karkat believed him.


	14. Outgrowing

Dave vacated Rose's room of bottles of alcohol with no regard for noise control. While she curled up on her designated cot, covered in blankets and clones of cuddly plushies, she listened as Dave rooted around her room and started rolling the bottles away from her door. The empty ones plinked, the full ones rumbled. The only bottle in her reach contained pure water, which was for the best. She sipped it slowly, interrupted every so often when Dave asked about where her next stash of booze was. He eliminated maybe eighty-five percent of them, the remaining fifteen left to see another day of endless void simply because Rose didn’t want to explain to him how to find them. She couldn’t imagine pulling them out now, or ever, not with Vriska’s words ringing in her head.

She had been right about everything. About how Rose hurt Kanaya, was letting down Jade and John, hurt Kanaya, renounced all responsibility, hurt Kanaya, and left everyone else to clean up her messes. She couldn’t bear to look Kanaya in the face again after this. Rose felt like the worst piece of shit ever created in Paradox Space, but it had to be a mere fraction of how terrible Kanaya was feeling. She must have thought Rose didn’t care, or that she was playing some kind of sick joke.

Rose _was_ the sick joke. It was her.

She couldn’t go to sleep. Dreambubbles were hell with a hangover, and she could feel the alcohol filtering from her system and transforming into that unique dehydrated headache. After Dave left, awkwardly mumble-rapping some kind of farewell, she put on some music. It was an alchemized CD of violin arias being played on breathy instruments that were pointedly not violins. Still, she closed her eyes and started waiting for the pain to pass. She felt shivery instead, and very cold in her stomach. She pulled a blanket closer around herself and tried to wait it out, even as she wanted to puke.

Someone knocked. The sound was loud and unwelcome and even though Rose vocalized a ‘go away,’ she doubted the visitor heard her. Rose braced her own hands against her head and stood up, shakily stumbled to the door, and said to the person behind it, “Go away!”

“You don’t even know what I’m here for!” Vriska’s voice said. “Judgmental much?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Not even if I’m saying sorry?”

“Terezi put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“…Does that matter?”

“Yes, it does. You’re apologizing to me to make her happy, not because you regret what you did.”

“Well, fine, you’re right there. I don’t regret what I did, but I still feel bad about it!”

Rose paused, grappling with that contradiction. “…That’s stupid.”

“No, it’s true! Just let me in and I’ll tell you!”

She really didn’t want to see Vriska’s face. But a few factors, including a chance for revenge after that humiliation, persuaded Rose to get up, turn off the ‘music,’ and then sit and lean against the door.

“Okay. Tell me.”

“Aren’t you going to let me in????????”

“It’s one thing to listen to your voice, and another to look at your face. Please excuse me for wanting to limit my exposure to one utter travesty instead of two.”

“Oh my god, you’ve been sober for what, four hours and you’re already back to being a huge bitch!”

“What can I say? I’m a hero of Light. It seems to come with the territory.”

“I didn’t come here for you to sass me with lame, backhanded double-insults.”

“After what you said to me? I think you deserve it.”

“But _you_ deserved what _I_ said _first_. You have a problem, Rose, and it needed to get addressed!”

“In front of Dave and Karkat? With Kanaya in the wings? With violence?”

“Oh, because you’ve been paying any attention at all when Kanaya taps you on the shoulder and says ‘maybe next time you should stop before you vomit.’ Of course I couldn’t use her technique! And besides, I was trying to clean up another mess.”

“Did you clean up the cup you smashed?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Really.”

“I mean, I will. Can you just let me talk already!?”

Rose hadn’t really gained any ground in this sass-off, but simply making Vriska’s life harder brought a unique and indescribable joy. Even with a worsening hangover, she felt herself grinning a little. “Go on.”

“So, it was brought to my attention recently that Kanaya probably had something of a _thing_ for me back before our session started. Like, I thought she was being pale about it, fussing and meddling in my shit, but apparently that’s just Kanaya’s way of trying to communicate flushed feelings. You know the drill, she must have hassled you soooooooo much through your session.”

Rose hugged her elbows close to her, fighting a new wave of nausea. “That’s accurate, yes.”

“And I absolutely _swear_ on my last boonbuck and my dice and my sweet fairy wings or whatever else will convince you that I’m being honest, we are _through_ with that. We were wrong for each other, I moved on, she moved on, everyone moved on. And I didn’t even realize what I had done to hurt her until really recently. So when I saw Kanaya getting so upset over you, it was like… looking at a mistake I had made, and seeing how shitty it was. So by getting you to straighten out and stop it with the soporifics, it’s like saying sorry to Kanaya for all that I put her through.”

A silence fell between the two girls. Rose could imagine Vriska sitting on the opposite side of the door, much like Rose herself, talking to the empty hallway. She wondered what kind of expression Vriska was making, though there was a bit of that tree-falls-in-forest quandary about it. What kind of face does Vriska make when no one is around to see her?

“Does that make sense? Do you see why I had to treat you so rough, to make sure the message stuck?”

Rose snorted. “Only you could find a way to make my salvation an extension of your own personal journey toward some approximation of basic morality.”

“You asked _me_ why I did it, so obviously the reason is about me. What more do you want?”

“Would empathy be too much to ask?” Rose shot, speaking loudly enough to her empty room that Vriska would be sure to hear it.

“Empathy for what?”

“I don’t know, addiction?! I couldn’t stop, I just…” Rose shut her mouth, angry with herself all over again. She wanted a shot of something, but getting up to get a glass would mean abandoning her chance to get back at Vriska. “Whatever.”

“I mean, I know what addiction feels like.”

“Really. You.”

“Yes, really! A while back I started smashing magic 8 balls. If I got a bad prediction, I would get so angry, and then smash it, and it started to feel like an appropriate response for anger. And whenever I got a bad break, I’d smash more of them. And before I knew it, I was out of control, like—”

Rose started to laugh, a bigger belly laugh than she had felt in months, maybe years.

“What are you laughing at?!”

“Only you could consider a habit of destroying your own property akin to alcoholism.”

“What’s the difference, then?”

“One causes very deep bodily harm.”

“I stepped on a ton of the dice inside! And the edges right after it breaks are really sharp!”

“Just stop, Vriska. You don’t know what I was feeling. Don’t pretend you do.”

Vriska was silent on the other side of the door. Rose listened for any sign that she was getting ready to speak (or better yet, leave) but nothing happened.

“…Then why did you start?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you start drinking that stuff in the first place?”

“A lot of reasons.”

“Since I apparently can’t infer them on my own, it’s up to you to tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “You realize that we can never appropriately lose consciousness anymore, right? And we haven’t been able to for a very long time. Since the game began and our dream selves awakened on the moons of Derse and Prospit, our every sleeping hour required just as much attention and activity as being awake. And when there was nothing to do on the moons, you could relax and treat it like a fun party, but in dreambubbles, as a god tier, and with a host of problems you don’t want to get into… I wanted everything to stop. I wanted to sleep again. Drinking helped me feel the way I wanted to.”

“But why would you want to feel that way all the time? Why couldn’t you just have some before you went to sleep?”

“It… stopped working. When the alcohol wore off, I felt worse than before, and the only way to feel better again was to drink more. I stopped liking who I was when I was sober. I didn’t even like who I was when I was drunk, but I at least… didn’t notice myself.”

Rose could not believe she was giving the Alcohol Talk to an alien from another universe. And that this event didn’t even scratch the bottom of the top 100 list of ‘weirdest things Rose Lalonde never in her life expected to do.’

“Well, that cycle is bullshit and stops right now. You are officially banned from consuming any more alcohol. If I find any more of that stuff, you will not _believe_ what I’m going to do to you.”

“Dave already purged my room.”

“Oh. Good, then,” Vriska said. “But if you wanted to feel asleep, why did you use alcohol to get there? There could have been some other way, like tying a blindfold around your face and lying down for a few hours.”

“I don’t want to get into this with you.”

“Is it because of your lusus?”

“Call her what she was. My mother.”

“Fine, mother. She drank that stuff all the time, didn’t she? So why didn’t you know how awful it was?”

Rose couldn’t answer right away. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to reveal the complicated history of my mother to any overly egocentric alien who asks.”

She heard Vriska scoff, and envisioned a roll of her eyes, but Vriska said nothing. Rose appreciated the silence, since it gave her a chance to poke at a piece of dust on the floor and ignore Vriska was even there.

“You… liked her a lot, right?”

 _Why is she still trying to talk to me?_ “Essentially.”

“Did you want to be like her when you grew up?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m trying to empathize here. Are you going to meet me halfway and let me know if I’m on the right track?”

“…Fine. Yes, I admired a number of her qualities. Like wearing a stylish lab coat and speaking on the phone with people who sounded very important. Since joining the game, my understanding of her talents only grew, and I appreciated them more… until she died.”

“Then I don’t think it’s out of the question to think that she’s serving as your ancestor. She’s someone you share genes with, who grew up to do great deeds, paved the way for your existence, and then left their work for you to complete.”

“That still doesn’t make sense in the context of human familial relationships. ‘Ancestor’ implies a degree of distance from the relative in question.”

“You don’t _have_ a bloodline that goes further back. Your lusu—um, mother is a perfect ectobiological clone of herself, copied from a critical moment in the timeline and then cloned as a baby and sent back in time to become herself. It’s just her and you.”

Rose closed eyes. _No, it’s just me_.

“But anyway, she knew something about the game. Enough to make sure that you had the resources necessary to get as far as you did. It’s pretty obvious by now that she’s the one who pre-programmed the ectobiology machine in your session so John couldn’t fuck it up! She made sure you existed, because she knew you’d be important, and she wanted to give you the best shot she could!”

“And I let her down, is that it?”

“If you keep drinking, you will. But you have the chance to follow in the heroic side of her footsteps. Like what I want to do for my ancestor.”

“Mindfang the pirate.” Rose racked her brains for a far-off memory of meeting with Aranea, and then seeing the Beforan ghost inhabit her Alternian self’s memory. She wondered if Vriska knew her ancestor’s involvement in the Summoner’s rebellion, and how she had once pledged herself to a crimson banner.

“Exactly. I didn’t have the maturity for it at the time, but I realize now that even though Mindfang was awesome in every way, she didn’t do many very good things. She was the best at fighting, and at plundering, and had a really cool style—”

“Ah-hem.”

“Oops. So yeah, lots of good stuff, but also really terrible stuff. She used her telepathic powers in some really awful ways, like to rape her slaves and blah blah blah. There’s only so much of that we can blame on her upbringing in an obsessively badass society.”

Rose could feel the point Vriska was dancing around, but didn’t know if Vriska lacked the vocabulary to describe it, or an awareness of the words coming out of her mouth.

“At a certain point, you have to… outgrow how you grew up. I grew up idolizing a murderous adventuress. But it is possible to separate the good from the bad, and then grow even more, following better idols. And there have _got_ to be better ways to honor your mother than drinking.”

Rose thought back. She remembered violin recitals attended, and wish-lists for obscure literature fulfilled, and lipstick application lessons. So much of that got lost in the midst of elaborate insincere passive-aggression, or passing out on any sufficiently flat surface, or losing track of which day of the week it was. Her mother had vices and had made mistakes, but she had been a loving, generous, and brilliant woman.

“…What if you don’t feel like you can live up to what your ancestor did?” Rose asked, wishing she could punch herself in the face for daring to insinuate that Vriska had made a good point.

“You just… try. For as long as you can. Legend says that embracing the path your ancestor set for you will guarantee your success along that path. If you stumble ass-backwards into it or try and resist it altogether, you’re fated for trouble. So I guess, so long as you accept all your mother did to help you, you’ll be fine.”

It couldn’t possibly be that easy. But it also couldn’t possibly be _real_ , so where should her priorities be on this? Well, where would Vriska’s logic lead her? Based on her actions and intentions, what was the path her mother set out for her to follow? Even with those memories clouded first by alcohol and then by hangover, Rose knew what her mom had wanted her to do. If she was destined to be tormented by game and destiny, don’t quit. Torment it back. Torment it until she received, against all odds, the ultimate reward. Do right where her mother had done wrong.

And maybe kiss a cute girl. While it was universally understood as child neglect for a mother to offer her daughter a martini, it set a precedent that made Rose pretty certain her mom would high-five her for making out with an alien.

“You can go now,” Rose told Vriska through the door. “I’ll let Terezi know you’re off the hook.”

“So you forgive me?”

“I’m not angry with you anymore, but don’t mistake that for forgiveness.”

“What’s the difference? If you’re not mad, then we’re cool, right?”

“Maybe I should refine my stance a little further. While I continue to detest the way you flaunt about and assume command of our small group of survivors and completely miss every possible hint that we all hate you quite a lot, I recognize that your actions were correct. I needed to see how awful I was acting, and you showed me. I don’t have to forgive you for the pain it took to make me stop.”

“Why is everything always a puzzle with you, Lalonde? Don’t you get sick of it?”

“Why do you think I started drinking? Which would you rather have, a drunk Rose or a puzzling Rose?”

“How about a Rose with her ass in gear, ready to rip devastation across Paradox Space when our enemies come knocking?”

That statement clicked together like a missing piece of the legacy. How else could she honor her mother’s work if she also didn’t avenge Ms. Lalonde upon the forces who ended her life? “I might be able to work with that.”

“Great. Now, not that it hasn’t been absolutely stellar, sitting in a dingy hallway while you moped in your room and refused to open the door to me, but I gotta get going. Tell Terezi that I came by and maybe next time I see you, you’ll be less of a weak little loser, okay?”

“You have such a gorgeous way with words. How do you fail to become fast friends with all you meet?” Rose drawled sarcastically.

She heard Vriska stomp off, so apparently the conversation was over. Rose stood up and shambled over to her bed. She pulled out her old visor computer and sent a hasty message to Terezi, recounting Vriska’s visit but citing her headache as a reason to not get into specifics. Then she turned her music back on, laid down, and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift around in the best approximation of dreamless sleep she had enjoyed in years.


	15. The First Code

_The compound didn’t even have a wall—just a fence. They had put barbed wire at the top and a lot of aggressive signs on it, saying DANGER and HIGH VOLTAGE, but those didn’t add to the physical durability of the chain links and metal posts. Nepeta almost felt insulted by how easy it was going to be to breach._

_She crouched in a grassy ditch some few dozen yards away from the fence,  ready to spring on anything that got too close. Other trolls hid with her, though not as coiled. They had a few guns, some makeshift spears, some blades, and more than one knife intended for culinary use. And Nepeta had her claws and fangs. Short of cracking a nail or losing a tooth, she stayed just as dangerous any moment of the day._

_She directed her thoughts toward the guards on patrol around the compound. The two buildings looked basically identical: two lumps of cold concrete swirled in a beehive-like pattern, a watchtower on top of each. One had windows—that one would be the barracks and livingblocks for the workers—and then the other had narrow slits in even layers, like air vents. That would be the data center, the target of their attack. But the first thing they needed gone were the cameras. Then the guards would probably start to mobilize, poor trolls with little more than a watchstick to call a weapon. She wondered when those guards had last fought anything stronger than a squeakbeast after a piece of their dinner._

_Great, now she was hungry for squeakbeast._

_The last sentries gathered at the barracks-hive and disappeared from the grounds, signaling the change from evening to night shifts. The Chimeric sent his signal down the line to hold. They had to be sure the change completed, or else they’d be caught with twice as many sentries as expected._

_Nepeta didn’t know technology the way the Chimeric did—and even he had learned from mentors—but routine maintenance didn’t require many technicians. The guards themselves only lived on the premises as part of a pseudo-culling system. They were responsible for protecting the warmer-blooded techies, but the responsibility was all a sham. No, even these oh-so-capable guards were only here so that some other cooler blood could keep an eye on them and know they were staying out of trouble. As much as she loathed that system, she hoped no one part of it would have to die tonight._

_“Go.”_

_The whisper passed down the line, and in a moment they sprung into action. The largest trolls among them lifted a smaller, denser troll onto the Mirthful's shoulders, and that troll held wire cutters the length of Nepeta’s arm. Grunting in effort, he put the wire cutter to work, snipping through strings of razor-sharp wire—one, then another, then a third—until he had created an opening._

_Now it was Nepeta’s turn. She leapt onto the fence, gripping the gaps with her fingers and toes as she scrambled up to the top and down to the other side. Others would need a boost up to get over, and Nepeta’s guidance to get down. One other troll joined her. Then a second. And a third. And a fourth. Then those four ran toward the side of the data hive, preparing to take on any guard they crossed. Neutralize, the Chimeric had ordered. But from their exhaustive discussions about the decalogue and all it contained, lethal force was on the table._

_More trolls. More squadrons vanishing deeper into the data center. Nepeta heard distant noise, a far-off battle cry. Some of the rebels had found a guard or two. She had done her best to teach them how to roar properly, create a sound with their breath and voice that would stop fights before they started. Then again, those sounds would be sure to summon more guards—_

_A lightning strike crackled through the air, connecting with the side of the barracks hive. Just according to plan, the Seafarer had begun his rain of fire to discourage anyone from leaving the barracks to join the fight in the data center. The strategy would only work until someone inside managed to cry for help from the town’s enforcement patrol, but according to all the maps, that should leave plenty of time._

_Finally, most all trolls made it over, save a dozen or so fighters designated to stay back and defend the exit. The Chimeric and Mirthful joined Nepeta with a handful of others ready for the main strike against the data center hive. With their comrades raising hell around the rest of the compound, the path to the front door stayed remarkably clear._

_“Come on,” the Chimeric urged, and they sprinted their way to the front door. The Mirthful slanted his shoulder down and charged, knocking the door aside in a single strike. Nepeta let out an internal sigh of relief._

_Inside, the hive walls looked waxy, plastery, artificial and organic all in one. The low-hanging ceiling with missing tiles and exposed wires made Nepeta uneasy, like this hive would fall apart if she bumped a wall wrong. The hallway had signs listing where different blocks lay, but Nepeta didn’t know which one meant what._

_Thankfully, the Chimeric did. He took the lead and pushed forward, turning left and right with characteristic certainty. Even when tinny, synthetic alarms began to ring through the hive, he ignored the sound. A few trolls appeared from small studyblocks and offices, red and brown and rare yellows. The few who dared venture into the hallway were shoved aside and knocked out. Even though the Chimeric looked ready to take action, the Mirthful beat him to it every time. Nepeta thought she saw the Chimeric look frustrated, but there was no time to analyze his reactions. The rest barricaded their own doors, which was likely the happier course of action._

_After a few minutes of running, the Chimeric led them to their target. Nepeta had never been in a place like this before, a small room with chairs and screens, and windows viewing a large room with blinking towers connected by cables. A few of the trolls took positions at the screens, waking the computers and beginning to type things beyond Nepeta’s current comprehension. The others took up stations at the entrance to the room, preparing to intercept and fight any guards still on patrol._

_“Just stick to the code,” the Chimeric coached, offering pats on the shoulder. “Mirthful, are we secure?”_

_“Like a motherfucking currency vault,” the purpleblood answered._

_“Good. I’ll be right back.”_

Wait, what?

_Before Nepeta could raise a question about this change in plan, he had stepped out through one of the side doors. “Hey!” she called after him, moving toward the door._

_“Tameless, we need you here!” one of the terminal-trolls said._

_“What, and we can let him go without backup?”_

_“It’s just a technical check. He cleared it with the Seafarer strategically.”_

_“And didn’t tell me!? If we don’t protect him there won’t_ be _any more strategies!” She turned to the Mirthful, realizing she had to deliver a low blow but was unable to feel bad about it. “He should have backup. If I follow, we won’t have to just believe he’ll come back, like last time. You can be certain.”_

_The Mirthful met her eyes, a kind of pain in them, before he looked to the door, and then to the trolls hacking their way into the data system. “If these motherfuckers can manage a little day terror, I can hold this line with my motherfucking self alone. Tameless can go.”_

_She didn’t wait for any more discussion. Busting through the door and dropping onto all fours for a faster, leaping sprint, Nepeta hoped she wasn’t too late to catch the Chimeric’s trail. Without wet earth or broken branches to track, the only sense at her disposal would be his scent, and this building didn’t hold smells the way the earth did. The hall was long and straight, and as far as she could tell, it only had one turn at the end. Just run. Run and hope, run and hope…_

_As she rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of crimson disappearing behind another door._ Perfect _. With a few more bounding leaps, she arrived at the door and flung it open, calling after him: “Chimeric!”_

_“What the—Tameless?! What the hell are you doing!?” The Chimeric glared at her in shock, then waved his arms. “Go back to the control block!”_

_“I’m not going to leave you without backup! What are you thinking?”_

_“I was thinking your talents are needed elsewhere, now will you go back?!” Even while addressing her, the Chimeric shifted further into the room, which as far as Nepeta could tell just had some tables and chairs. What did he need to do in here? This place was such a labyrinth, she had no idea if he was seeking the nerve center of the entire hive or the nutrition block._

_“Not a chance, I’m going to make sure no one ambushes you!”_

_“By ambushing me?!” He backed toward a door in the corner, marked with a sign that said ‘maintenance.’_

_“You’re losing time arguing with me,” Nepeta pointed out._

_“You stubborn beast,” he spat, but he turned around and opened the maintenance door. “Fine. If you’re going to come, you can’t ask any more questions. Not until I’m finished.”_

_Accepting these terms, Nepeta followed the Chimeric into the maintenance room, which turned out to be longer than she expected, with a ladder at the end dropping deeper into the hive. What the hell was this place? Without hesitation, the Chimeric swung around the top of the ladder and began his descent, with Nepeta following. It took a minute to reach the bottom, where she found some boxes fitted into the wall and an array of pipes._

_“What now?” she asked._

_“I said no questions,” the Chimeric snapped, possibly more on-edge than the situation called for. “But as long as you’re here, help me bust down one of these walls. That one.”_

_He pointed, and with the butt of one sickle, put a crack in the flimsy plaster. Nepeta couldn’t do much but follow his lead, beating on the wall with her fists until chunks of it began to give way. She and the Chimeric made short work of the weak barricade, revealing a small unfinished cavern that reminded Nepeta of some caves where her old pride used to sleep to avoid the sun. Why this was even here? A secret room, unused? An archaeological dig, abandoned?_

_The Chimeric seemed not to care about the how or why. He knelt down on the ground and began clawing at clumps of loose dirt, moving it aside until something smooth emerged. In the low light, Nepeta could only see a curved shape and a few lines._

_“How much longer do we have?”_

_“Don’t worry. I’m almost done.” He peered closer at the thing in the earth, which Nepeta started to realize was a piece of a column, covered in… symbols? The only one she could see in its entirety was an elaborate circle with lots of swirling lines that created a flower-like star in the center. She tried to remember what that shape was called._

_The Chimeric removed a heavily folded sheet of paper from a pocket, along with a piece of charcoal. He spread the paper across the glyphs and rubbed with the charcoal until they appeared on his paper. The work was hasty, and finished within a few seconds. “Okay, now back we go.”_

_“That’s it?”_

_“That’s it. Do you see now why your presence was superfluous?”_

_Nepeta hissed at him, but took the lead climbing back up the ladder, through the maintenance room, and back to the control room. The closer she got, the more a creeping fear started to grow in her mind, but the Chimeric took her hand. With just that simple contact, she didn’t feel as scared. Arriving at the control room, only the Mirthful remained, with the rest of the team already gone. The Chimeric didn’t question it, which left Nepeta to raise an eyebrow at the purpleblood… who for some reason, looked more haggard and monstrous than the last time she had seen him._

_“Once the job got done, didn’t see any motherfucking reason to keep them around me while I was channeling some motherfucking nightmares,” the Mirthful explained. Nepeta still had a great number of questions about that, but even she could see that there was no time left to ask them. Still, it kept her from focusing on the details of the escape. She followed them through the halls again, out into the courtyard, back over the fence and into the forest where she rendezvoused with the rest of the rebels. Mission accomplished, minimal wounds, no known kills. The mission could not have been a greater success._

_So why did she feel so uneasy?_


	16. Scholars and Warriors

Terezi had known this would be a risk when she walked away from that doomed Kankri: losing him. Her waking self began to trudge through the sprawling zephyr hills remembered from Tavros’s planet, seeking ghosts or memories or anything that could lead her back to the path of her organized informant. All but bullying Vriska to go and at least pretend to apologize for her rage had left her too fired up to sleep, even though she knew that would help her stay productive. Thankfully, after a few hours of tossing and turning the furthest ring took pity on her. The meteor had physically passed through a dreambubble, replacing the dingy walls of the meteor with the dunes of LOSAZ and the opportunity to investigate.

She ran into Dave before she found anyone else. She did like Dave, he was hilarious, but since he regrettably was not what Terezi wanted to find, she had a very underwhelming greeting for him. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Wow, thanks. Is that a new thing you’re trying out, being rude?”

“I just might be. It has its advantages! Still weighing them against the drawbacks at this moment, though.”

“Let me tip those scales in the right direction and save you the trouble: don’t be rude. It sucks and makes everyone hate you.”

“Like Vriska?”

“Yes, like Vriska. Don’t ever become more like Vriska.”

Terezi giggled and smiled, but she felt a little bad about it. _Does he not understand, or does he not want to understand?_

“But anyway, since you’re done being rude, what’s up in here?”

“My first step is to try and get my bearings, but then the _second_ step is to look for a Kankri.”

“Ugh, we have to talk to Kankri?”

“No, this is one of his doomed offshoots. He’s really reasonable and knows when to shut his mouth. I think he’s more ‘freshly’ dead, at least from his perspective, so he’s less insufferable. He volunteered to read some memory books once when I was asleep and summarize them when we next met. After all, dreambubble time is a precious resourse for us, and an infinite resource for him.”

“I guess since you trusted him to summarize rather than expand the reading, that proves he’s not off his fucking troll-rocker.”

“Glad we agree! Now we just need to find him.”

“In this desert here? Was this one of your lands?”

“Yeah, LOSAZ. A beautiful ruby-mocha place with some nice skylight, but the sand would tickle my nose and make it hard to see.”

“Damn. Better get you inside wherever you think this Kankri is gonna be.”

With her new trekking partner, Terezi continued through the dunes. The amber sky gave way to patches of Skaian blue, with a few Prospitian structures stretching up along the horizon. She wished she had been brought to a dreambubble closer to memories of civilization. Or that it wouldn’t be utterly humiliating to ask Dave for a god-tier lift.

“So… Vriska was on the warpath.”

“You heard?”

“I witnessed. I was one of the people holding the stilts for the wedding canopy while Vriska spades-married herself to Rose’s alcoholism. She even stomped on a cup and everything. Rabbis around the world wept in holy joy at their matrimony.”

“References to whatever the fuck matrimony is aside, Vriska isn’t _spades_ with Rose. Or at least, she can’t be while Rose is self-sabotaging like this. You should never want your kismesis dead, they’re your rival after all—”

“Okay, what I did not want here was another huge lecture about how troll romance works, how many of those do I have to sit through before this is all over?” Dave interrupted. “But the joke is, when people get married, other people stand around so they can say ‘that sure did happen’ after the fact to anyone who doesn’t believe the two people got hitched. Maybe I should have gone with a detective allegory. Hey, Officer Snifflescales, I just witnessed a brutal fucking murder in our common room. Like a downright backstab sneak attack against Rose’s drinking problem.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your prompt testimony, concerned citizen, I don’t see why this is a bad thing,” Terezi said. “We wanted Rose to stop ingesting soporifics, right?”

“Yeah, but why did it have to involve Vriska screaming and making everyone uncomfortable? Pretty sure Kanaya didn’t appreciate Vriska white-knighting for her like that, Karkat and I are the Knights here and we know enough that you’re not supposed to yell at young ladies. Like one of the rules of chivalry or whatever.”

“Karkat does nothing _but_ yell.”

“Karkat yells because it’s his only volume setting. It’s like, all of his normal words are at the same decibel, so when he yells, he’s not yelling at people.”

“How kind of you to split hairs on your good buddy’s behalf!”

“Is any of this getting through? Do you actually understand me and you’re being facetiously coy about it, or do you not see why it was a problem for Vriska to go on a rampage like that?”

“The former. I get that it wasn’t fun to see, and I’m sorry about that, but this needed to happen.”

“Maybe I can agree with you that Rose needed to get wrecked in order for her to get checked, but Vriska didn’t have to wreck the rest of us.”

“Are you referring to a specific slight against you, cool kid?”

“I mean, Karkat and I were chilling and we did not need everything to devolve into bullshit drama. Exactly the sort of thing to completely ruin any kind of awesome hangout groove that two guys could have established earlier in the day that they might have really been looking forward to.”

Oh, of course. This nebulously red thing that Terezi kept sniffing between them. She didn’t want to be one of those busybodies assuming she knew what was up between them. After all, Dave wore enough red and they both bled enough red that maybe her nose was getting a little biased. “Karkat will still be here when it’s all said and done. He probably knew he had to go and speak with Kanaya about what just happened. And I suppose you have been busy helping Rose out, too…”

“Yeah, I tossed her stash off the meteor. Jack’s gonna get a faceful of whiskey and wine or whatever else Rose alchemized, blue raspberry vodka martinis or something else awful. Maybe if we’re lucky one of the glass bottles can break on his face, making him double-blind and easier to beat.”

“I thought there was some sort of human taboo against harming animals.”

“Jack murdered _how_ many people and we’re going to give him the animal abuse protection clause? Let’s just take the troll side of things and say animals are meant for eating and we’re gonna have a bow-wow barbecue when this is over.”

The conversation flowed while the landscape did, transforming from hills of sand into more traditional hills of grass and trees. Terezi had to start taking extra sniffs before putting her feet down, since the combination of slopes and roots made the ground more treacherous than before. Even Dave, with his preference for walking places even though he possessed the ability of flight, decided that a little floating was in order, and without even offering her his hand. So much for the chivalrous code of god-tier Knights.

But, those longer and deeper breaths meant that Terezi got a whiff of a certain cute cherry pixie in advance.

“Hang on… Aradia! That’s you, right?”

“Terezi?” the Maid of Time answered, and the second mass of gorgeous crimson fluttered closer. Terezi really couldn’t remember the last time she had crossed Aradia’s path. She would flit in and out of groups and bubbles, taking to her role as the greeter of ghosts with gusto, but Terezi could never anticipate when they would next meet. “And Dave, too! Hi!”

“Hey,” Dave said, aloof as ever. Terezi stopped walking and let Aradia come to them.

“It looks like you guys are awake—is the meteor passing through a bubble?” she asked. Terezi had to give credit where it was due, Aradia’s ability to tell the ghosts from the dreamers impressed her.

“You got it!” Terezi said. “We were looking for one specific incarnation of Kankri, but frankly I’ve found myself surrounded by more red than I know what to do with, so I could let that mission slide for now.”

“As great as it is to see you, I don’t want to derail any important missions that require you to locate a specific doomed incarnation of a person. And if you need to take a breather, maybe Dave and I could continue on.”

“Hey, I’m not necessarily volunteering for anything,” Dave said. “I was going along with Terezi because it was better than staying on the meteor with nothing to do.”

“Maybe you could start by telling me what you need to see this Kankri for?” Aradia asked. Terezi could smell the pearly sugar-white of her toothy smile. Nice to see that Aradia was still taking to death like a python to strangling things.

“All I got from Terezi was that he has some book reports to give to her. On what, I don’t even know.”

“It’s about anything interesting he could find. While we were in the library where we met him, we had concerned ourselves with trying to research the Condesce and the possibility of her being present in the new session. But frankly, any information we can dredge up from these frothy memory-bubbles is going to be at least a little bit useful.”

“That’s a very good perspective to have. Considering you’re a Seer of Mind, you are in a unique position to understand the choices that could have led to certain memories taking place. You can glean much more from these bubbles than an ordinary observer!”

Terezi returned Aradia’s smile with a grin of her own, but she kind of wished the Maid wouldn’t do that. Aradia seemed to know so much about what all of their classes and aspects were supposed to be; it either robbed Terezi of the fun of discovering it herself, or made her second-guess whether she were living up to that full potential. “Either way, would you be able to ‘bookmark’ some useful bubbles for us? Like libraries or researchblocks, or memories of great historical importance?”

“Absolutely! Happy to help,” Aradia replied. “And while we’re on the subject of great historical memories, I think we can start out immediately, with you helping me help you.”

“Wait, what?” Dave’s quick and confused reaction spared Terezi from having to ask. She wanted to give him a pat on the head for his helpful idiocy.

“Word has gotten around the bubbles that you are searching for memories of the Beforan ancestors, as something of a personal research project combined with efforts to gain a greater understanding of the groundwork first laid for all subsequent events. I am almost completely certain that I’ve found one of those memories, from the perspective of Damara’s ancestor—me—but I haven’t been able to make sense of where it fits in the grand narrative.”

“Can you take us to this memory?” Terezi asked.

“Sure thing!” Aradia offered Terezi her hand, which lifted a load off her mind. No more worrying about dream-roots tripping her up. With her feet off the ground, Terezi floated with the god tiers and let Aradia pull her along to the right memory. Dave tried to ask a few questions about what this memory was like, but Aradia just said it would be faster to show them.

Terezi kept her nose turned up, sniffing out any other changes in the landscape. The trees gradually changed into a species she had never smelled before, and through the flashes of trunks and branches she could smell creatures. First it was an unnatural number of small ones, like nut creatures and flapbeasts, but then they started to get larger, replaced by yowling maulers and savage wolves. She unconsciously gripped Aradia’s hand tighter as they passed enormous hunting roarbeasts and cholerbears. She had to remind herself, they were just memories. She had fought bigger and uglier, and bested them all. But something about how many there were, and how singularly focused they appeared to be on moving forward, gave Terezi the creeps.

Finally, Aradia brought them to some underbrush and encouraged them to crouch. “This is the starting point I’ve found, but it’s not a very good vantage point. When I look through the trees like this, I can see… _that_.”

Terezi let her shoulder bump against Dave’s so she could match his lean to look ahead. She sniffed, and she could smell the brown rump and black tail of a hoofbeast with a rider on its back. And there were some thin but pronounced hints of orange and yellow there, like… horns.

“That’s Tavros, right?” Dave asked. “Jacked up like someone let a bull loose in a steroid shop.”

“That’s definitely a funny way of thinking about it, but you’re right. I recognize that as Tavros, but I don’t recognize what he’s doing out there. I know—or, I feel—that I can’t get closer to him because of all the animals around. I would be breaking a line, and I would lose the tactical advantage, so I know this is a memory of a battle.”

“Do you know how you got here?”

“No. I’ve just been hiding. Tavros is the one leading the army. I’m here to help, but I can’t tell what I’m helping with. All I can remember is I hear him say… Oh, maybe I can just make it move forward.”

Despite her total comfort with the idea of being the weird blind girl, Terezi had to admit that this situation would be easier to perceive with eyesight. She smelled the Tavros-shape through the trees square his shoulders. She recognized the pose from Eridan’s riflekind specibus… but Tavros never used a rifle. So what was the Huntsman doing?

Then she heard his voice: “You never saved anyone. You were never going to save anyone.”

And then there was a long pause… Terezi could hear the breath of the beasts surrounding them, obviously there under the Huntsman’s command. Then the vivid red shape of Aradia’s body twitched, and Terezi heard distant shouts, cries…

“That’s all I have,” Aradia said. “I haven’t been able to progress any further in the memory since I have no bearing for what is even supposed to happen next. All I know is in that moment, I care a lot about Tavros, but I always have, so that’s nothing new.”

“Thanks for showing us this.” Terezi gave credit where it was due, but her mind churned with ideas. “Hang on, Aradia, you can’t move because your role in the memory is right here. But what about Dave and me?”

“What about you two?” Aradia asked.

“We can move anywhere we want, since we were never part of this memory to begin with. We can find a new vantage point and hopefully see more of the memory play out! C’mon, cool kid!”

Terezi stood up and pushed forward. Knowing their role in the memory, she felt less nervous around the huge animals now, and shifted between their odious bodies easily. She heard Dave behind her, and in a few more seconds she broke through to the light. The moon and the moon’s moon both shone brightly down on the scene, bathing it all in pale pink light as she smelled the surroundings. The smoke-like haze of memory constructs obfuscated a lot of detail and made it really hard to sniff out what was going on. She knew the animals had surrounded the clearing in a ring. She knew there was another cluster of trolls some distance away, huddled close, too dense to smell individuals.

And there were two points outside of this bulls-eye, like darts thrown onto the target. One was Tavros, tall and strong on his horse with a crossbow in his hands, aimed at the other person standing outside of a sanctioned ring.

 _Scarlet_.

Terezi stopped, disoriented and weirdly light-headed. It felt like she could smell both her face and the back of her head in a mirror, with one of those visions being downright impossible. She hadn’t approached this scene from this angle. She was somewhere else. Somewhere higher.

“Terezi, are you okay?” Dave noticed her stop short. She was probably making some kind of ridiculous face too.

Terezi cleared her throat and clenched her fists to try and get herself back on track. “I’m fine. But we should get to high ground. I think that’ll help Aradia out best, since we can see the whole memory that way. Mind giving me a lift, Super Time Man?”

“Just ‘Superman’ is enough,” Dave said, and he offered Terezi a hand to finally help her get somewhere fast. She had a bubbly feeling in her stomach that Aradia had just helped them find something more enormous than anyone had expected.


	17. Records and Reaching

_“Have we got proper ventilation to the third silicomb mainframe yet?”_

_“On it.”_

_“And how many of our systems are infected?”_

_“I haven’t yet found one that_ isn’t _, which I think answers your question.”_

_The prime-position elector of the Aurelian Psionic Institute, Soulstar, uttered a curse word that would turn a noble’s cheeks blue. “Twinhorn, what’s your patch looking like?”_

_“It’s going to work, but I need more time,” Sollux reported, fingers flying across his own keyboard as the five other electors in the block kept busy with their own tasks: checking the internal systems, coordinating with exterior services, and trying to reassure the public that they would fix the troll wide web shortly, even though they had no estimate on when the job would be done._

_“How_ much _more time?”_

 _“I have to trick all of our message routing networks into believing that every message_ already _contains a copy of the malware file so that the worm doesn’t keep trying to attach itself, but that’s not going to be a complete fix. We’re going to require the entire planet to install a patch.”_

_“Surely something the Compasse can make happen,” another elector said._

_“I’m still trying to work out if this thing knows how to evolve,” Sollux shot back at whoever had spoken to him. Despite having close relationships with the rest of the electors, his brain sparked with too much code and computing to pay much attention to whose voices addressed him. “If we implement the solution halfway, it could learn the new system before we have it fully online and we’ll be back where we fucking started.”_

_“That’s still not a time estimate. Twinhorn, if you can’t give me a solution in the next two hours, I need a precise estimate of how long the solution will take.”_

_Sollux snorted. “Oh, it’s going to take_ way _longer than two hours.”_

_“Estimate?!”_

_“A week. If the third silicomb mainframe doesn’t melt down on us.”_

_“Animator, status?”_

_“Still in danger, the vents aren’t cooling it as fast as we want.”_

_“Soulstar? The hub from sector four wants our advice on how to contain.”_

_“There_ is _no containing it, that’s why it’s a worm…”_

_Sollux zoned away from the conversation, but in the middle of his coding his pocket began to tremble and beep. He covered the buzzing palmhusk with his hand and hastily excused himself from the room. Almost no one contacted him with phone calls, not with his whole existence connected to so many networks, so something had to be up. Out in the hallway, he extracted the phone from his pocket and pressed the ‘connect’ button. “What do you want?”_

_“Ouch, cull-bee. Can I get a hello first?”_

_“LS?! Oh my fucking god, where are you? I haven’t heard anything since you got sent to find Trueshot’s runaway cullee.”_

_“There hasn’t been much to say. They have finally tapped me to help find the Chimeric, so at least I’m not sitting on my rump anymore.”_

_“Are you still culling that new wiggler?”_

_“No, had to send her back. No good at playing games. I’m hoping to get a new one trained up quick. She’s very good at games, but has a bit of a mean streak.”_

_“Let me straighten her out. I’ll prove an education under Lawscale is second to none.”_

_“Thanks, but I’ll have to take you up on that later. I’m actually calling about our most recent crisis. The whole internet’s red now.”_

_Sollux pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I don’t have an estimate, we have to practically reverse-engineer the way we communicate and replace the routing code with something new—”_

_“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry, I don’t need the technical side of things. So we can’t send emails for a month or so. We’ll just get some good use out of the letter couriers again. What I want to know is, did you write the worm for him?”_

_“What?! When would I—I never, I_ would _never, LS, you know me better than—”_

_“I'm not saying you wrote it for him to cripple the internet with. But before all this, when he was little, did you share a code for a worm with him? Anything he could have re-purposed for this?”_

_“I mean… fuck, yes. From that perspective, I did. This is my fucking fault, it’s all my fault—”_

_“Hey!” Lawscale raised her voice that time around. “I don’t need blame or judgment, just information. Is there anything else you taught him to create? Is this the warm-up for the main event?”_

_After a few calming breaths, Sollux finally answered in a mostly-even tone. “No. This is the extent of it. Anything else he could do to cripple our communications systems would be on accident. He was never very good at programming, and most of his viruses were just accidents. A code meant to do something else that would catch on a loop and self-destruct the computer.”_

_“Good, so we’re safe.”_

_“Are we?”_

_“We will be.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Have you seen what he’s passing around?”_

_“Yeah, a text file. A big one.”_

_“Any chance we can request having that scrubbed from the internet after we get the worm under control?”_

_“Nothing ever disappears from the internet. That’s not how it works.”_

_“Thought I’d ask. Heads up that the Compasse’s people will probably be asking for the same thing in a few hours.”_

_“…Great.”_

_“Just a friendly warning. Listen, I gotta go, but we’ll talk soon.”_

_“We haven’t talked in months,” Sollux corrected, almost disgusted with himself for bringing this up now, in the middle of a global digital catastrophe. “Sorry. I don’t mean to… make a big deal out of this, but don’t tell me soon. Give me a date.”_

_“How about three days from this exact moment?”_

_Sollux checked the time and did the calculations. “I might finally be calm by then.”_

_“That’s what I’m hoping. You do good work now. Kick ass and show them what you’re made of.”_

_Smiling a little, Sollux bade farewell to Lawscale and hung up. But… since he was out here, he might as well check on something. He opened his messenger and found that the last six or seven incoming contacts all contained a large text file attachment, entitled DECALOGUE._ _The file itself was obviously more than it seemed, carrying a self-replicating worm with it, the thing that was causing so much trouble. And while he hadn’t opened it yet, the other electors and reinforcementers had confirmed that it had the Chimeric’s fingerprints all over it. He had something to say, and he wanted the whole world to hear it._

_What the hell. Sollux opened the top message and selected the decalogue to download to his palmhusk. It would be a bitch trying to scrub the device clean of malware after, but he needed to read what the Chimeric wanted to say for himself. Maybe there’d be something about his eventual destiny in there. He wasn’t exactly in a position to ignore when possible clues fell into his lap._

 

* * *

 

Gamzee’s claws barely touched the delicate pages of the Chimeric’s journal as he flipped them one by one, examining the familiar yet foreign crimson writing. Karkat could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he watched his friend—moirail? Were they moirails yet, just because Gamzee had papped him? The clown had said nothing definitive—read his ancient predecessor’s words. Or at least, most of them. Gamzee looked like he was scanning more than reading, which Karkat understood. The Chimeric had been pretty fucking verbose, probably proving once and for all the Vantas bloodline contained a genetic requirement to be disastrously mouthy.

“And you got to take this motherfucker with you out of a dreambubble?” Gamzee asked him.

“Basically,” Karkat said. “I still don’t know how that worked. I think, if Damara had it on her person when she died, she got to bring it into the dreambubbles, which means its physical existence got preserved, so she could give it to me and I could take it out of the bubble. At least… I _think_ that’s how this shit works. I can’t remember anything even remotely resembling a fucking precedent for this, but I’m pretty sure we’re all in agreement that dreambubbles are bullshit and nothing about them makes any sense, has never made sense, and never will.”

“Preach, brother.” Gamzee reverently turned another page, scanning down it. Karkat peered over his shoulder to see what part he was at. He had finished the political dragon-side already, but he didn’t seem far into the lion side yet. The young Chimeric, about seven sweeps, Karkat’s age.

“We asked Kurloz about his ancestor, you, kind of a while ago now. But he didn’t want to talk about it.” Karkat nudged the subject in another direction. “Did he tell you anything?”

“With his motherfucking mouth all stitched together, there’s not much he can tell.”

“What about with Meulin’s help?”

“His kittysis gives me some motherfucking terror-pangs.” Gamzee touched his face. “I know none of the Beforan motherfuckers know how to hurt so much as a buzzing insect, but… can’t help it.”

Karkat nodded, trying to be understanding. He didn’t know what had actually happened when Equius and Nepeta had fought him. If he read between the lines a bit, it sounded like Gamzee still had panic attacks or something when he spent too much time with Leijons. Maybe Nepeta had been more of a threat to him than Karkat thought.

_But Gamzee killed her. Equius too. What does he have to fear?_

He shook that thought out of his head. Gamzee did not need Karkat to be judgmental. He needed Karkat’s understanding. He needed forgiveness.

“Mirthful, huh?” Gamzee spoke up. “Feels kinda motherfucking generic to me.”

“I never got around to asking him why he chose that as his title,” Karkat answered. “But when we found his ghost, he introduced himself as Mournful, so obviously something changed.”

“You motherfuckers have left me in the distant special stardust on this whole saga, I’m out of all kinds of loops. So he was Mirthful, then got kicked out of the wicked jubilation-circles, and became Mournful?”

“That’s right, yeah. Though I think he kept thinking of himself as Mirthful, even when his original title got stripped, until he went to prison.”

“What’d he get sent to a prison block for?”

“For… everything. For fighting the Empress and betraying the church and being pale with the Chimeric while he was young.” Karkat fiddled with the hem of his sweater. “And like, I know everything about an adult being pale for a wiggler is a billion trillion types of fucked up, too many for any universe—past, present, or future—to account for, but when we found the Seafarer’s ghost, he called their moirallegiance perfect. I believe him on that too. For all that they may have started out as something reprehensible and too morally deviant to even contemplate, let alone excuse, they… they ended up pretty happy.”

Gamzee slid his fingers under the cover of the Chimeric’s journal and eased it closed. “So are you saying you’re here seeking some motherfucking pale serendipity with me?”

“No! I know I’m the shitstain with thousands of romance movies under my belt, but even I know it’s way too soon to think about—about _this_ , like… that.”

Gamzee laughed a little, low and wheezy like his breath was trying to chuckle independently of his body. “You got no reason to be all motherfucking fearful on that. We’re in a place darker and lonelier than our day terrors ever cooked up in their motherfucking dream cauldron, so it makes sense to want some pale up in your grid.” He leaned a bit closer. “Not to mention, you caved real easy to some papping…”

“That was for your sake.”

“Was it?”

“You said it was, you wanted to try being gentle, or something like that.”

“That’s not how I got my remember on to it.” Gamzee smiled at Karkat, affectionate and teasing. “I remember my brother coming into my space all discombobulated on the strangeness he witnessed among his so-called teammates, and he needed help into his chill. What choice did I have but to oblige?”

“That’s still not the same as what you said, it’s not like… I asked you to do anything.”

“Once I gave you an excuse, you unraveled like I pulled a thread on your cuddle shirt. That’s making all kinds of motherfucking sounds like you were just waiting on a reason to let yourself feel all pale and protected.”

Karkat snorted and re-folded his knees in a new position. “I really don’t care to fight over that, so let’s just call you right and stop focusing on the stupid parts of this.”

“Gives me a chest-ache to think you call your own feelings stupid.”

“They were! It was just… some kind of overreaction to a completely separate overreaction. And don’t just act like you can start insisting upon some conciliatory claim to my emotional state just because of one pile. It’s not like this is a big deal.”

Gamzee sighed and looked a little sad. “I guess that’s technically the real thing, but it’s not where my heart is up to being. When a motherfucker spends his time going out of his motherfucking way to check on you and keep your life straight and make you feel like a real troll again… Doesn’t that mean you got a little claim to me? Does this pale thing only go one way, lowblood papping a highblood for his motherfucking pacifications?”

Karkat wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to start unraveling that knot of logic Gamzee just tossed at him. He had spent enough time with ghosts from Beforus and humans to challenge his views on the traditional high-low social function of moirallegiance. Even though he’d always keep a soft, romantic spot for that structure, he shouldn’t assume this nebulous maybe-relationship with Gamzee would function that way. But taking sanity advice from an insane clown felt counterproductive.

“We… can talk about something else, if you like,” Gamzee said, apologetic.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad, I think I zoned out a second.” Karkat caught a glimpse of a smile on Gamzee’s face, like he was nostalgic for when he enjoyed mental spaciness like Karkat’s. “I guess… I can take the journal back. I’m figuring out how to take pictures of the pages so I don’t have to keep touching it.”

While Karkat picked up the journal to stow in his sylladex, Gamzee asked another question. “What’s my Mirth-Mourner self like? Since you up and met his ghost.”

God, how was Karkat even supposed to answer that? He tapped his fingers on the journal as he tried to put his impression into words. “He gave everything he had to a cause he believed in. I think at one point, that made him really happy. And when he thought that I was his ‘little bro,’ he sounded like someone had given him his reason to live back. Which is a stupid way of framing it, because he’s a ghost and he’s never going to be alive again, and neither is the Chimeric. But that’s what he reminded me of.”

“I can feel for the other motherfucker, wishing so motherfucking bad for someone and getting them switched around with someone else.”

“Exactly. And it was so surreal, like telling a giant pupa that I wasn’t his lusus, when it should be the complete other way around.”

“Well, you are still kinda little, my brother.” Gamzee chuckled again. “Maybe, until you find his little bro, you’ll be my little bro.”

Karkat blushed and scratched behind his ear. “I still think we’re moving too fast on that…”

“Sorry, motherfucker. I don’t mean to be all pressuring you, it’s just been a sweep since I had contact with a troll who didn’t think I was some kind of motherfucking monster. When I’m thinking all tender at you, I don’t feel like what they think I am.”

How could he refuse letting Gamzee do something that helped him so much? Karkat swallowed, then reached out and touched Gamzee’s hand. “If it’s going to make you happy, you can call me ‘little bro.’ But only here.”

Gamzee returned that gesture with an enormous, rib-bending hug, which Karkat did his best to return. He still didn’t feel like he matched Gamzee’s force when it came to these hug-outs.


	18. Skip To The End

Dave had never owned a dog. Most of his experience of what they should be like came from pop culture pooches and Jade’s stories of Becquerel, which were either obviously fictionally exaggerated or a nightmare god-dog from space with powers beyond comprehension. But as Dave held tight to Terezi’s hand and tried to anticipate where she would point next, he got a really strange feeling that this was like owning a bloodhound.

 _‘Sniff sniff, motherfuckers—I can smell Timmy is stuck in a well! This way, humans!’ Terezi the crime-solving collie is on the case._ That thought would not be shared with Terezi, barring a catastrophic failure of his mouth filter.

The whole setup of the bubble made the hair on the back of Dave’s neck stand up. It reminded him of his apartment in Houston; the mighty, menacing force all around him while he knew a fight was coming—surrounded on all sides, traps in the crawlspace, a summons on the door—but still scrambling for a way to escape, avoid it, or barring that, endure it. But this had the potential to be far more than a beatdown. This could be a massacre if the trolls in the center didn’t play their cards right.

“We’re close,” Terezi said. Her eyebrows were crunched tight together over her red shades.

“You’re smelling the ‘start’ line?”

“Something like that. More to the left?”

Dave obliged, until he could see a spot on the side of the steep hill that could serve well enough as a lookout. Erosion or terraforming or both had left an outcropping of rock jutting out of the side, with a clear view down through the trees to the clearing below. However, when Dave started to descend, Terezi yanked on his arm, which as the guy making the flying happen in the first place felt _really_ jarring.

“Not yet. Drop back a bit up the path.”

“What? Why?”

“If we arrive at the memory, then we have a stronger chance of having it start at the beginning.”

He supposed Terezi had more experience with all this, so he drifted further along a very narrow trail cut through the underbrush. Once he finally did touch down, Terezi turned her face back toward the lookout almost instantly.

“Are you part of this memory? Or, ancestor-you was?”

“…I think so,” Terezi said. “It feels different than the last time I lived one of Lawscale’s memories.”

“What did the last time feel like?”

“Meow and squeakbeast, with a surprise twist. Now feels… grim.”

“Wow, that’s encouraging,” Dave riffed on her, but even knowing there was no chance he had been part of ancient troll history, he could feel it too. “Grim like hopeless, or emo, or what?”

“Grim like I’m too late—and I know I’m too late—but I can’t give up. Come on.”

Deciding it was finally time to move, Terezi led the way back up the path. Dave followed in her wake, having his own sense of déjà vu. Some parts of Terezi were falling away, while others got amplified, just like when Karkat had fallen into the groove of the Chimeric’s memory of that first naval battle. Well, letting Terezi fall deeper into the memory would be key to making it continue, so Dave made a note to shut his mouth unless he felt certain he could prod the scene along.

When Dave joined Terezi at the lookout, he could see her plan had worked, at least a little. The concentric circles were still in place—animals on the outside, guards inside of that, and supposed innocents at the center—but the red and brown smudges of the Chimeric and Huntsman were gone. _Nice rewind, Terezi._

“How did this even happen?”

Terezi asked that more to herself than to anyone, but Dave felt that was a comment needing prompting. “What?”

“He’s been missing for sweeps. Institutionalized culling wrote him off as dead. Why is he here?”

Dave had enough context clues to know Terezi was talking about the Huntsman. “He’s one with nature, isn’t he? He can fight without risking more hum—troll lives.”

“Then who authorized putting him on the front lines? The Compasse would never use such a tactic, not even against the Chimeric.”

There it was—the slightly older speech, the deeper tone, the way those titles flowed naturally off her tongue as if she never knew them as anyone else. When Dave glanced over at Terezi, he saw her glasses had changed, swapped from pointy edges to square Latula-like shades. _Lawscale incoming. Let the LARPing commence._

A motion down in the clearing distracted Dave. A small red dot pushed its way outside of the guards encircling the other trolls and stepped out into the open. It moved slowly, and Dave couldn’t really tell why, but eventually it separated from the group as a whole to stand alone. In response, a shape broke from the outermost ring of beasts as the Huntsman urged his mount forward to meet the Chimeric, while he still left a great distance between them. The Chimeric raised his hands like a surrender, but it was too far forward. From his vantage point, the best meaning Dave could assign the motion was ‘I won’t harm you, just listen.’

Watching the leaders of the two armies stand and face each other gave Dave another shiver. He still felt memories of his childhood home bubbling close to the surface, but here the desperation to avoid a fight was coming from both sides. The Huntsman wanted to hold back as badly as the Chimeric did, but since no one was yielding first, bloodshed stayed on the table.

“It’s back,” Terezi interrupted his train of thought.

“Back?” Dave asked, but she ignored him. Whoever ‘Lawscale’ thought Dave was, that person would not have asked that question. She just touched Dave’s forearm and pointed down at the other side of the clearing, behind the stand-off brewing between the two ancestors. He had no idea what Terezi was smelling at first before he caught a glimpse of it. A neon-green flash, like a small crack of lightning, or like Jack Noir’s space-bending wings. He squinted harder at it, trying to get a sense of what shape held that power. It was an animal all right, on all fours, but with a strange, stubby tail… or wait, which side was the tail? It had a pair of wings in its middle, leathery like a bat, but where a tail should be, it had a furry lioness face.

Dave almost felt disappointed with how this CatDog lion-dragon thing did not qualify as the weirdest thing that he had ever seen in his life. But he recognized the signs that mattered: white creature, green lightning. That was the First Guardian of Beforus.

As strange as the First Guardian was, it barely moved a muscle, almost blending in with the surrounding animals save for spurts of Green Sun-energy. So, Dave switched his gaze back to the stand-off. The Chimeric still had his hands up, and he had advanced a few yards toward the commander of the beasts. It looked like he was talking. The Huntsman had his crossbow aimed, a deterrent against sudden moves, but he seemed to be allowing the slow approach. Terezi’s hand hadn’t left Dave's forearm, and he felt her claws start to dig into his skin. He wanted to tell her to let up, but his voice was withered and dry.

Then the crossbow fired. The bolt struck the Chimeric’s stomach. He fell. Before he even hit the ground, another troll tore away from the mass, pushing guards aside to sprint to the Chimeric’s side. He was huge, and Dave recognized the missing horn before he could identify anything else. The Mirthful reached the Chimeric, took his body into his arms, but barely a second later a flash of green lighting removed the Chimeric from the scene completely. The trolls shouted in shock, and even knowing what had happened, Dave couldn’t stifle his surprise. _Where did the First Guardian send him?_

The Mirthful knelt there for a moment longer, when a low rumble rose from the clearing. The rumble grew into a shout. And then a roar. The sound grew and grew until both Dave and Terezi had their hands jammed over their ears. Dave squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, the roar so huge and vast that he couldn’t hope to block it out by covering his ears alone. Too much, too much, too loud, it hurt—

The noise started to fade into echoes, and Dave dared to open his eyes. Everyone, everything, scattered around in pandemonium. Some animals had fled, but others, spooked and wild, rushed forward to sink claws and fangs into the threatening-looking trolls. The lines of guards broke, some falling as others grabbed their companion’s hands to try and drag them to safety, but not sure which direction safety lay.

Dave caught sight of the Mirthful again. He had rushed forward, closing the distance between himself and the Huntsman in a few long, powerful strides as he took two heavy clubs into his hands. The Huntsman had lost his mount, the horse fleeing as he lay on the ground, prone and powerless.

Then the Mirthful reached him. He roared again, pulled his clubs back, and bashed the Huntsman’s skull between them. Dave pulled back as spurts of brown blood fell on the grass. That blow had to be fatal already, no way could someone’s skull survive that…

But the Mirthful wasn’t done. Even with his foe all but dead, he kept swinging. Whatever the Mirthful was running on—rage, despair, revenge—it would not stop. He struck again, and again, and again, blow after blow, not even the alien coloring could stop Dave from seeing _blood_ , blood, so much blood, and broken bones and burst guts and a corpse smashed beyond all recognition—

Dave twisted away from Terezi, preserving the smallest scrap of dignity he could as his stomach revolted and he tossed up the last thing he ate. Acid and bile coated the inside of his mouth as a few more dry-heaves followed the wet one. He felt like his entire digestive system had been turned inside-out. Peering down at the chunky puke, Dave could visually confirm that had happened.

“Oh my god, Dave… Dave!” He heard Terezi and felt her hand on his back, grounding him. “Sweet jegus, that’s rancid. Here, let’s get away from that…”

Terezi pushed on Dave’s shoulders and eased him away from the puddle of stomach acid and probably gummy bears. He didn’t want to look closer and check. Terezi produced a scalemate and offered it to Dave, which he hesitated to take until she reassured him that Inspector Berrybreath had seen some very disgusting fluids in his time on the force, and was a perfect lip-cleaning friend. Dave gave up on feeling weird about it—at least it wasn’t a smuppet—and rubbed his mouth on the scalemate’s back.

The sounds of the battle ended. His ears still rang with screams and snarls, but the memory itself had either paused or dissolved.

“Are you okay?” Terezi asked. And Dave’s empty stomach flip-flopped again, realizing he hadn’t expected her to ask that.

“I will be,” Dave said. “Can you… keep this a secret?”

“Of course,” she answered, one of the most sincere-sounding things he had ever heard come out of her mouth. The last time he had needed her to be straight with him, he had been staring at the corpse of his bro with Terezi’s words coming filtered to him through teal text and bad leet-speak. Then meeting her in person, he had concluded that she was just incapable of being comforting with matters of life and death on the line.

But now...

“Dave! Terezi!” Aradia called to them, and Dave made an effort to stand up straighter, even with the disgusting taste on his teeth making him want to puke again. “Oh my god, it worked—but I never expected _that_ to be the ultimate course of the memory! You two are safe, right?”

“We’re good,” Terezi spoke up on Dave’s behalf. “Did you get to see it, too?”

“I did. Once Tavros vanished, I realized you had restarted the memory, and I found a different vantage point. That was Karkat and Gamzee down there, right?”

Terezi nodded. “Basically. We know that they were moirails on Beforus, and it looks like seeing Karkat die triggered a highblood rage. Maybe they are more inborn than we expected.”

“Or he’s programmed for murder like every insane clown is,” Dave put in his two cents, mostly to make sure he didn’t look completely incapacitated after witnessing that brutal beating.

“But that’s just the thing—I’m pretty sure Karkat survived that encounter. Only one bolt hit him, and the First Guardian teleported him to somewhere else,” Aradia said. “If there was anyone able to give him medical attention nearby, then he might have made a recovery.”

“The Mirthful obviously didn’t know the First Guardian was going to do anything. The last thing he saw was his moirail bleeding, and then vanished. So of course he lost his shit on the supposed killer.”

With another jolt in his stomach, Dave raised his hand, wanting to change the subject. “Why were some of the trolls protecting some of the other trolls? What was going on before we even reached this point?”

“I have no idea,” Aradia answered. “All I could find was the entry point for Damara’s ancestor.”

“Have you tried talking to Tavros to have him help you out?” Terezi asked.

“No, he’s been kind of busy lately. But now that I see where the memory goes, I don’t think I’d want to ask that of him.”

“Okay. How about I do what I can to rally our meteor’s troops? I’m pretty sure I was part of that memory. If we can get Karkat on board too, promising him he doesn’t die, then maybe we can get a better sense of what they were talking about before the Huntsman brought up the crossbow solution. Maybe he could even ‘remember’ what the Chimeric had been doing before they ended up in this confrontation.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Aradia said. She folded her hands together, her smile turned around. “I’m really sorry you had to see that, too. At least, not without preparation.”

“Hey, we’re cool, right Terezi?” Dave insisted, keeping his face as steady as he could. He just hoped he didn’t look green in the cheeks, that would give it all away.

“Of course!” Terezi backed him up. “We’ll be in touch, Aradia. We should make our way back to the meteor. Make sure the others haven’t burned it down, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine!” Aradia said. “At least, if it did burn down, it would create a doomed timeline, so you should find the meteor intact regardless. You planned everything out well enough that the meteor should at least make it to the new session in one piece.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. Thanks, Aradia. It’s been far less than real, but enjoyable all the way around!”

‘Enjoyable’ was not the word Dave would have used. He was having a hard time picking a replacement, though, from his mental thesaurus listing all the synonyms for ‘fucked up.’


	19. Vigilance and Trickery

_Watching Lawscale work her side of the criminal equation lost its fascination quickly. Lawscale needed a thousand points of evidence before she would trust her senses. She could busy herself with measuring the depth of the footprints and interrogating the witnesses; Vriska already saw the scene plainly. She saw the entry point where the rebels scaled the fence, their rampage around the grounds, the busted doors through the mainframe compound, and the security barracks. Regrettably, while Vriska no longer found Lawscale’s investigative process interesting, it still registered as the most interesting part of standing around and waiting for their next move._

_The interviews looked like they would take the longest. Backup had arrived from the local reinforcementer corps and another Vigilant had come on board, but Lawscale had easily a hundred trolls to interrogate. The communications technicians sobbed and barely managed to string three words together about the horror of the terrorists running through their hive. The guards were about as pathetic, sharing similar stories of fearing for their lives. Who could have_ poooooooossibly _warned them that security detail could involve_ facing criminals _with_ weapons _! The madness! The terror! It wasn’t like they also possessed weapons of their own and had presumably been trained how to use them. Maybe the Chimeric had a point about trollkind being too ‘soft.’ Vriska’s favorite reaction had to come from the manager of the compound, a nervous tealblood gnawing his fingernails and certain that any ambition he had as a mid-level culling management official would soon be dashed forever. That clod._

_Lawscale would be the one to make sense of it all. She could listen to these broken testimonials and find useful connective tissue between them. How many attacked? Where did they come from? How well were they equipped? Did they steal anything? Any surveillance from the night had been erased in a brute-force blast that eliminated the entire previous three nights, so all she had to work with were eyewitness accounts. And she would need to prepare for countless hours reading and analyzing that mysterious document now attached to every inbound and outbound message sent on all of Beforus._

_Leave the busywork to the bureaucrat. Vriska could feel there was a far more interesting story here, just beneath the surface. She just had to find which string to pull to make it reveal itself. And she even knew where she wanted to start: the scorched blasts dotting around the entrances to the barracks. Vriska stepped closer and ran her fingers over the blackened marks. Each one had a very tiny pitch-black dot in the center, like a needle stick, and then a large, ashy circle around it. She wished there was footage of the impacts to see what they looked like in action, but these strikes were incredibly precise, and had probably appeared flashy._

Like distractions.

_Now that was an interesting theory. Vriska drifted closer to Lawscale to eavesdrop on whatever she was talking about with a pair of olive-blooded sentries. They clutched each other’s hands and nodded incessantly when the other spoke. It turned out that Lawscale had moved far beyond the topic of the scorched doors. So, Vriska took things into her own hands and rifled about in their think pans a bit. They each had a memory of the same event, like two cameras filming the scene from different angles, of lightning strikes dotting the door, increasing in frequency if anyone tried to open it even a sliver. They never saw who created these blasts and how, but they drew the same conclusion that there had been a gunman._

A sniper?

 _A sniper meant to distract the guards so they couldn’t come and help. Curious… Vriska had (allegedly) trafficked a few high-octane laser rifles in her past life, so she had a basic understanding of their power and rarity. They almost never fell into the hands of anyone less than blueblooded. Their use for anything other than hunting against the most monstrous beasts Beforus had to offer was all but unheard of. She ran through her list of the traitors who had been aboard the_ Lux Volans _before Lawscale marked it as a target for imperial destruction, and could think of no one there who had the skill to shoot like that._

 _Maybe this was the string she needed to pull. Vriska returned to the hive doors and looked more closely at the burn marks. The small dots at the center had left an impact in the concrete, barely the depth of Vriska’s fingernail. And they were_ angled _. Each of them tilted slightly down, which told Vriska this shooter had not been coming at this from dead-on. They must have been in a high-up perch. This sniper theory seemed like it might hold more water after all. She turned her back on the door and looked at a few adjacent buildings. Only one looked tall enough to be the shooter’s nest._

 _Finally_ excited _about this investigation, Vriska swung back by Lawscale. The Vigilant had started speaking to the other tealblood, the middle manager, making at least a token effort to reassure him that his cooperation would be key to correcting this terrible mistake and maintaining his station as a respected culler._

_Just to mess with his head, Vriska coughed and straightened her spine. “Excuse me, Vigilant Lawscale. I request permission to investigate the surrounding area.”_

_The middle manager’s eyes bugged to see a ceruleanblood ask permission from a troll of his warmer hue, but Lawscale sighed. “You have thirty minutes, Prospera. If you are late, there will be consequences.”_

_Vriska saluted. “Understood, Vigilant!” because of course having to explain why a blueblood answered to her would cause a very lengthy tangent in Lawscale’s interrogation, which might just buy Vriska an extra ten minutes to snoop around her way._

_She crossed a few streets and arrived at the tall businesshive. The building was so boring, inside and out, that she couldn’t even get through reading the names of listed tenants without wanting to yawn. But, the troll sitting at the desk was an unassuming burgundyblood with very disappointingly small horns. Vriska would have no trouble getting past her._

_“Excuse me.” She sauntered up to the desk and leaned against it like it was her own personal property. “I am the Vigilant Prospera. Was a break-in report submitted at this location last night?”_

_The burgundy looked up from her work, a little dazzled. Had she ever spoken to a blueblood in her life before? “We did! We did, but we were placed on hold, the Vigilant corps said all investigators were involved in terror attack...”_

_Vriska brushed some of her hair back over her shoulder. “Then it’s your lucky day. I’m here to get to the bottom of this. First, I require access to your security footage and to the roof.”_

_The burgundy opened her mouth like she was going to ask about something, but Vriska pressed on her mind to set her thoughts in a constructive direction. She shouldn’t question this—who else but a true Vigilant would speak so confidently? She didn’t want to stand in the way of justice, did she? Obviously this investigation was too important for Prospera to have her papers in order, time was of the essence!_

_“R-right this way,” the troll stammered, and she stood up from her desk to bring Vriska to a dour and undecorated security block. The only occupant was an overweight troll sharing the secretary’s burgundy blood._

_“Corporal, the Vigilants are here!” the woman from the desk said, getting her co-worker’s attention. The Corporal made a face like the secretary had when Vriska arrived, stunned and stupid. Manipulating him wouldn’t be a problem either. Vriska just loved how_ common _warmbloods were, especially in menial labor. It made getting what she wanted that much easier._

_“I am the Vigilant Prospera. I need access to yesterday’s security footage, specifically in the stairwells and on the roof.”_

Don’t question, too important, no time, just do as I say… _The Corporal nodded, but twiddled his thumbs a second. “Are you here for what’s wrong with the messages? Every time I send or get a message it’s got the big document on it.”_

_“Just ignore that, it’s terrorist ramblings,” the secretary said._

_“Have you opened it?”_

_“No,” she answered, and she narrowed her eyes at her co-worker. “Have you?”_

_“I glanced across a couple pages. Nothing major! It’s very long, too much to_ actually _read—”_

 _“Excuse me! I am in pursuit of justice here!” Vriska interrupted the impending squabble._ And this is exactly what the Chimeric wants to happen. _“Corporal, show me the stairwell and roof cameras, now!”_

_Sweating, the man poked some keys and buttons and found the spaces and time period Vriska requested. “We don’t have any roof cameras, Vigilant, but we have cameras in the stairwells. Is that enough?”_

_She turned up her nose, performing her dissatisfaction. “It might be. Scrub through them and mark out the times when you see suspicious activity. I am specifically looking for a troll with a rifle.”_

_“A rifle? Are we in danger? Do we need to evacuate?!” The poor little security officer rambled nervously, but Vriska patted the troll between the horns._

_“Don’t worry. The shooter is long gone. This is related to the break-in report.”_

_“Wasn’t that just a thief?” the Corporal asked._

_“No, we didn’t find anything stolen,” the secretary corrected._

_Vriska cleared her throat and brought the attention back to herself. “Whether he stole anything or not, through my investigation, I have concluded that this break-in is actually related to the sabotage that occurred at the nearby data center, forcing all communications to contain a copy of the terrorist’s manifesto.”_

Be impressed, this is impressive. _Vriska didn’t need to push hard for that thought to be true. The two trolls’ jaws dropped in awe and respect for this genius Vigilant who had all but solved two crimes in as many minutes. She smiled, a little externally and a lot internally. This parallel investigation scratched that bored itch quite nicely._

 _“To continue my investigation, I must go to the roof. I’ll be back in a few minutes to review the footage.” She turned to the secretary and held out her hand expectantly._ Give me the keys _._

_Before she could think too hard about whether it was a good idea to let a Vigilant who had arrived suddenly without any badge or warrants have access to the whole building, the secretary had already deposited a ring of keys in Vriska’s hand. Vriska smiled in thanks and moved to the stairwell. It would be easier to use the automatic ascension cube, but Vriska had a feeling the shooter would not have wanted to be trapped in such a confined space, so she would find more evidence if she followed the same route._

_Unfortunately, that strategy turned out to be a bust. The shooter had done well to leave no trace, since no one had thought that this building’s break-in report could possibly connect to the cyber sabotage next door. That didn’t mean they were off the hook yet. On the flat roof, Vriska scanned the dirt for some evidence of the shooter’s footsteps, but nothing stood out. The most she could do was stand at the edge of the roof near a railing and stare down at the barracks. She closed one eye and raised her arm, imitating a rifle, and assessed the shot. It looked near impossible. At this distance, Vriska could only identify the door of the barracks by the scorch marks left by the shooter’s previous activity. And she knew how tightly grouped they were, without a single scratch on any of the trolls trying to step outside._

Who could the Chimeric have recruited already with such expertise? _No one from that little culling institute had ever held anything rifle-shaped before in their lives; the Stalwart had made sure of that. And Vriska hadn't sent any snipers on the_ Lux Volans _. The Mirthful, the Chimeric, and the runaway troll-beast Mondaine had all been confirmed as on the premises. There was no one left._

_…Or, there was one person left._

_Vriska stepped away from the ledge. It couldn’t be. It had to be. But how? Vriska knew her way around blackmail and coercion, but what did the Chimeric have to force his prisoner’s hand?_

_She left the roof and took the stairs down again, making a note of the cameras and some other unassuming landmarks along the way, like the height of doorframes. Vriska knew the Seafarer’s approximate height relative to herself. She had rubbed elbows with him what felt like a lifetime ago, so she could perform a quick, relative measurement against one of the doors. He stood little bit taller than herself, with horns sweeping back rather than pointed high… And now to confirm it with the Corporal below._

_Taking a moment to compose her hair, Vriska strode back into the observation block like she owned the place. For another fifteen minutes, she basically did. The secretary had returned to her post, but the Corporal gave her a sloppy, fearful salute, which she nodded at approvingly. She missed having underlings._

_“What have you found?” she asked him._

_“You were right. We had an intruder, in the stairwell, definitely with a gun.” The troll tapped and clicked until the relevant scene appeared on one of the screens. A tall figure, dressed in dark clothing, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and most of his face. He even thought to have a shawl wrapped over his horns._

_The gun on the figure’s back could not be so easily hidden. One of the most fearfully powerful weapons ever created, Ahab’s Crosshairs could only be entrusted to a high and noble seadweller with the Compasse’s close confidence. Good to know the Chimeric had the sense to secure one of the planet’s greatest tools of destruction rather than throwing it away. But in the hands of anyone but an expert marksman, the Crosshairs would have leveled the barracks, not left a neat grouping of burn marks around a door._

_“Can you confirm this troll’s blood color?”_

_“Not with this resolution, ma’am.”_

_“Can’t you enhance the image?”_

_The trolls hesitated, fearful of the wrong answer. “I don’t think… that’s a real thing. It’s just in dramas and movies.”_

_Vriska pursed her lips and gave the troll a mental shove toward her perspective._ Obviously _, modern systems had no trouble enhancing recorded images. This old crap couldn’t possibly handle such an operation. He should have requested for an upgrade before this catastrophe struck, and be embarrassed that an esteemed and beautiful Vigilant had to work with such outdated equipment. “You’re misinformed, my friend, but I’ll let it slide. Can you find an image of the intruder standing near a door?”_

_“Yes ma’am.” Eager to make up for a mistake that wasn’t even his fault in the first place, the troll found a still frame where the shooter’s head matched up with the doorframe. Vriska’s approximate measurement might be an inch or two off, but the similarities were eerie. And he was making a point to hide his cheeks, ears, and horns, so he either was a seadweller or wanted to introduce sufficient doubt that he might be._

_“Was he acting alone?”_

_“Yes, ma’am. I looked hard as I could but no one else came in the building. He snuck in, climbed those stairs in a flash, and then half an hour later he came climbing down again and vanished.”_

_“Why didn’t he escape?” Vriska whispered to herself. She could understand using some kind of leverage to secure the Seafarer’s compliance, but letting him take on this mission completely unattended… Surely he could have run away and never returned, or contacted the Compasse, or any other common grunt with connections to institutional culling. And the Chimeric had no hostage that the Seafarer would yield to; that was the point of keeping the Seafarer captive in the first place, to dissuade the Compasse from taking drastic action to capture him. The only person whose threatened safety could convince the Seafarer to help rebels was her Radiance, and the Chimeric had no power to harm a hair on her head._

_It didn’t add up at all, from the perspective of an unwilling captive. But if the Seafarer were a willing ally…_

He hadn't left a single scratch on the guards. It takes a lot of skill to miss by just a hair.

_“Ma’am? Is there anything else I can do?” the guard asked, but Vriska couldn’t process anything else to ask him. She just took the nearest piece of paper—looked like it had something important on it, too—and wrote the address that Lawscale and Vriska were using as their temporary investigative base._

_“Send all of the relevant footage here for further review,” Vriska ordered. “My partner and I will be in touch if we need anything else.”_

_After receiving another anxious salute, Vriska let the troll be, dropping the keys off with the troll at the front desk and making her way back to the data center. It crossed her mind to check the time and see if she had any remaining space to wander around and test Lawscale’s patience—always a fun game—but she wasn’t in the mood._

_This changed everything. If the Chimeric had the Seafarer as an ally, then he had a resource with talents beyond compare. Direct experience with the Compasse’s military secrets. Unparalleled tactical training. A weapon so powerful that its use required imperial authorization. A noble penultimate on the hemospectrum lending validity to the thesis of a mutant._

_Vriska almost hoped that Lawscale would be able to prove Vriska’s conclusion wrong, for all of their sakes. Or at least, for the sake of Her Radiant Compassion._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Things have improved greatly in my life. :) I have a new day job and that's caused some awesome cascades of good things. I'm gonna have a paycheck again, reasons to leave the house, work friends, and even if I have less time to write, I feel more drive to do it. I don't think my update schedule has slipped yet, but I also don't want to jinx it. :P
> 
> Thank each and every one of you for sticking with me so far! I love all of you!!!!!!!


	20. Doubts and Diamonds

_It was like the whole rebellion held their breath for two days. Nepeta’s every instinct told her to run, but the Chimeric held them in place for a few more nights. Basic intelligence about the aftermath of the attack, he said, could give them an indication about where the Empire expected them next. Nepeta wanted to trust him on that, but found it hard._

_Scouts of three or four went out and came back. No sign of any pursuit, or attempts to ambush, and the papers and leaflets they brought back spoke of a planet in total confusion. ‘Wanted’ and ‘Missing’ posters multiplied tenfold with the last known images of all the criminals and former students of their party. The increased scrutiny made some nervous at first, until the Deadbeat took the wanted poster with his own face and pretended to seduce it with misquoted poetry. After that, no one could keep a straight face in the presence of their posters._

_On the third night, the Chimeric raised his hand and called for the attention of the group. “I’ll be brief, if you can believe that’s possible,” he said, earning a laugh. “But I can now safely and definitively say, we have achieved something unprecedented. We have created a document that encompasses our dreams, our power, our goals, and our commitment to justice all in one. We no longer need to recruit! We will send up the signal and all who agree will find the courage to join us! And we will welcome them with open arms!”_

_The rebels exhaled as one, and finally allowed themselves to take pride in their victory. The shoals around the_ Absolution _would be their paradise for one night, with bonfires and singing and no attention paid to the concept of nutritional rationing. Nepeta couldn’t muster up enthusiasm for the celebration, and instead looked down at one of the posters that she held in her hand. The poster had her picture on it, with her long hair in braids curled around her pointed horns and the neckline of a fancy dress visible at the bottom._

Missing: the Mondaine - assistance in her safe return will be greatly rewarded.

_Maybe Trueshot just didn’t know what was going on. Maybe he specially requested that she be on the ‘missing’ instead of the ‘wanted’ side to spare her reputation. Maybe he just didn’t want to acknowledge who Nepeta had become. He could be so stubborn when he wanted to be. It was his stubbornness that had taught Nepeta to walk, talk, and read in the first place. But now…_

_“That’s a downwardly elongated face you’ve got, my wildsis.” The Mirthful sidled up next to her. He kept his face trained on the budding festivities as trolls swung each other around in coarse improvised dances._

_“Oh… it’s okay,” she said._

_“Is it?”_

_“…No,” she caved instantly. Pretending to be fine was something the Mondaine did. “My poster doesn’t have my real title on it. And it says I’m missing, not wanted.”_

_“I saw. That’s some motherfucking shit.”_

_“Yeah.” Nepeta wanted to drop the poster, but couldn’t unclench her hand. “Do you think Trueshot is the reason they’re treating me like a hostage and not a runaway?”_

_“I don’t know any other motherfucker feeling his attachment at you who’d make a case that you’re all motherfucking innocent.”_

_“You knew him, right?”_

_“A lifespan ago.” The Mirthful crouched down to lean back against the sand. His head still tilted toward his whole, heavy horn. “Feels like everything from before this motherfucking business was a lifespan ago.”_

_Nepeta joined him, spending a moment on all fours to properly work out the cricks in her spine before sitting cross-legged. “Will he ever change his mind?”_

_“He could. It’d be a miracle, and I’ve seen enough of those to know they’re all motherfucking kinds of real.” The Mirthful let his head loll to the side to look at her. “Are you thinking up on something to make a miracle happen?”_

_“I don’t know,” Nepeta said. “If I wrote to him to explain myself, he might not get it and I’d give away our position. But if I don’t say anything… I’ll never know.”_

_She felt his hand on her back, and it thumped a few times in a reassuring way. “My advice is unwind from it all. There’s gonna be motherfuckers you loved in your life that aren’t part of it anymore. Just… he’s not the only motherfucker to ever love you. I think most any troll here thinks you’re the bitchtittiest roar-meow pounce-creature to ever roam the planet.”_

_Nepeta smiled a little. “I’ll think about that. And if I ever need more advice, I know where to find it.”_

_“Not to be pale at you, my sister.”_

_“Ugh, I know, exclusive quadrants! They still make no sense to me.”_

_“I mean, I don’t wanna go preaching to what other motherfuckers should do with their lives. I just think I’m at a place where so long as I got my moirail, I won’t be seeking anything else.”_

_“Well, that’s sad, too.”_

_“Why’s that?”_

_She curled her toes in the sand. “Never mind.”_

_“…So long as you’re sure to that never mind, I’ll mind it not a bit.”_

_Nepeta re-focused on the dance. It reminded her of that wriggling party they had thrown in the middle of the ocean, where she had compared her feelings to the Seafarer’s. Speaking of the seadweller, he was skirting around the edge of the party with his fins nervously flattened to his cheeks. She watched him ask a few trolls to dance. So far he was having rotten luck, and the ones he asked turned him down. Nepeta wondered who would finally accept, but the Chimeric beat her to it, tapping the Seafarer’s shoulder and whispering something to him._

_Then the two of them moved toward the center, chests puffed up and arms spread like the epitome of pompous arrogance. The Chimeric called out some fancy-sounding words that Nepeta recognized as cues for the orchestra to change songs and fire up specific, esoteric instruments. All it did was make the crowd shout and heckle them while they assumed an excessively refined dance pose together. Nepeta recognized the style—it had taken three weeks, twelve lectures, and eight bribes of spiced meat to make her learn—and the pair exaggerated it to the point they looked like cartoons bounding around the fire together._

_“How does he know to do that?” Nepeta asked._

_“What now?”_

_“The Chimeric. He’s making a fool of himself to make sure the Seafarer is included. It’s obvious to see it happening, but how does he know to do that in the first place?”_

_“Shit, man, I’ve had the best motherfucking seat in the hive for that spectacle and I can’t say.”_

_“Does he keep… secrets from you?”_

_“Nah.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Nepeta shifted up to sit on her knees. She had the sentence on the tip of her tongue, about what she saw the Chimeric do and how it had nothing to do with a ‘technical check’ or whatever his excuse had been. But if she said anything, encouraged the Mirthful to doubt his moirail, would that put a crack in the diamond they had built this entire rebellion on? And as it stood now, Nepeta believed the Mirthful would do anything to keep the rebellion safe and successful, because it belonged to his moirail. If she said something and his faith wavered, trolls could die or be captured… But should he really be living a lie?_

_The foolish courtly dance ended, and the Chimeric and Seafarer gave deep bows to each other and then the rest of the rebellion. In barely an instant, the Seafarer had another dance partner. The scarletblood’s plan had worked. Did she have a right to question plans that worked?_

_Without even saying goodbye to the Mirthful, Nepeta stood up and ran toward the bonfire dance. Someone wanted to take the Chimeric for another dance, but Nepeta raised her voice to be sure she was heard._

_“Chimeric, I need to speak with you,” she insisted. “I have questions.”_

_“May you find answers. But later, we’re celebrating right now,” he answered._

_“I won’t wait. This is about your detour.”_

_The Chimeric frowned, irritated, but he relented quickly. “Fine. We’ll talk now.”_

 

* * *

 

Terrible coffee did not make Terezi’s news any easier for Vriska to hear. Vriska set up camp for them in one of the remote cloning laboratories, surrounded by enormous vats of pickled carapacian warrior clone-mutants never to see the light of day. Vriska had thought getting coffee would help, after Terezi’s initial description of the scene had appeared to make her so upset. Well, upset for Terezi. Seeing her express negative emotions with anything more than a hardboiled grimace only happened once a sweep. It had been worth a try. At least coffee gave the both of them something to hold in their hands.

“So…” Vriska started. “It sounds like Tavros didn’t…”

“He did not.”

“And Gamzee was the…”

“Yep.”

Vriska sipped her coffee. It tasted like pure bitterness in liquid form, and she knew no alchemized additive would change that. “I wonder if that was the dream.”

“The what?”

“The dream Kurloz had that made him totally flip his pan. He shouted loud enough to deafen Meulin and then sewed his mouth shut after. Maybe he was dreaming of… his ancestor.”

“I don’t think Kurloz will be in any hurry to confirm that for us.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why bring it up?”

“To avoid talking about the rest of it.” Vriska shifted her weight on the rickety computer chair to tuck one leg under herself. “Let’s try and be rational about this. How many of the Beforan ancestors were there?”

“Karkat, Gamzee, Tavros, Aradia, me. And I think you were there too.”

“You didn’t mention that.”

“I couldn’t confirm it for sure. I just felt… something.”

“Something?”

“It was a feeling about a presence, and when I tried to think of whose presence, I knew it was Prospera.”

“Well, what was this ‘feeling?’”

Terezi set her coffee aside and ran her hands up her face, between her eyes and shades. “It’s really stupid. And it was even _more_ messed up, because it’s where _Dave_ was standing, and it was _weird_ …”

“Can you just tell me what it is?!”

“It’s hard to talk about, okay!?”

“Uuuuuuuugh, that is such a weak excuse! Just talk to me like it was the old days! We could practically communicate non-verbally then!”

“Only in combat! In any other situation, we were a pair of stupid wigglers who schemed to the point just shy of cheating, and we had _terrible_ communication.”

“That’s not how it was at all.”

“Oh, yeah? Then how did we have a falling out that involved blowing your arm off and blinding me?”

Vriska huffed. “We’re off-topic, and fine, you win. We sucked at talking about real things then. But that’s all the more reason to talk about real things _now_. John punched me in the face and spared me your judgment once. Even with all of the luck, I don’t think I can push it again if you decide that enough is enough and I’m a greater threat than ally. We’re either going to learn to talk it out, or John will have decked me for nothing.”

Terezi groaned one more time like her grubloaf had gone sour. “Fine, but you asked for this.”

“Of course. I accept full responsibility.”

“The feeling was… like…” A deep breath, and another whinging groan sound. “Nnnghg, it was _pale._ ”

“Sorry, _what_?”

“Yes! I said it! Pale! Lawscale felt that she had someone by her side who had seen all parts of herself and her secrets, and that she trusted that person with her life! And when I thought harder about that person, and who they might be… it was Prospera. You.”

Vriska felt herself blush. “But—how???????? When we lived through that other memory, where my—her—hive exploded, they were at each other’s throats! They had been enemies for decades!”

“Do you think I don’t find this weird too!? This is why I didn’t want to say anything!”

“Does anyone else know? Like, did Prospera’s memory-imprint smoky thing appear?”

“No, I don’t think so. Dave got distracted so I’m pretty sure he didn’t see.”

“Distracted with what?”

“A tree shaped like a human bulge.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“And I’m going to keep lying to you so long as you ask questions about Dave. But you know what I won’t lie about? Stuff that happened in the massacre-memory.”

Vriska wanted to keep pressing for Terezi to tell the truth about Dave, but even she couldn’t deny that this was the perfect opening to stop talking about any incarnation of the Serket and Pyrope bloodlines being pale for each other. “Okay then. Um… Aradia, huh? She was there?”

“Yes, she was. Whoever Aradia’s ancestor was, her story connected with the Huntsman.”

“I guess that makes sense, since Damara and Rufioh had a connection…” Vriska sipped her coffee again. Still as bitter as last time. “So, the Chimeric steps out, the Huntsman steps out, they talk, Huntsman shoots, and Mirthful goes berserk.”

“Don’t forget the First Guardian transports the Chimeric somewhere.”

“Right, right. But where?”

“I don’t know. We could try and find a Tavros to play the Huntsman to see if he can commune with a memory of an animal, but that sounds like it’s bending dreambubble psychophysics too hard, believe it or not.”

“Well then, what did the Chimeric say to make the Huntsman shoot him?”

“I was too far away to hear.”

Vriska sighed. “See, this is why I was hoping to focus on the new session. We’ve got less than half a sweep left before we arrive, and if the Condesce is waiting for us, who knows what else will be there? All this Beforus stuff keeps spiraling out of control and we have to stay focused.”

“Trying to stay focused in a dreambubble is like telling Cronus to keep it in his pants. We have to take what we can get, and hope that what we find is what we need in order to be ready for the final fight.”

“I don’t leave things to chance.” Vriska flipped some of her hair over her shoulder, a maneuver she had to stop suddenly because her coffee sloshed—she had to put her words into practice, using the power of fortune to keep it from spilling on her lap. She glanced over and saw one eyebrow on Terezi’s face rise, but acknowledging that meant acknowledging her near-miss. “As soon as Rose is up and running again, I’m positive she’ll work wonders helping us reach that doomed Kankri or any other relevant memory.”

“‘Up and running?’ You’re talking about her like she’s a computer program.”

“Rose Lalonde is a perfectly fine human being with feelings and needs and blah blah blah, but our Seer of Light has the ability to help us find the most favorable outcomes and bridge the gaps between pieces of knowledge with hyper-accurate inferences. She can be a useful tool and our friend at the same time. I’m talking about the tool part right now.”

“Wow. Should I tell her you think she’s a tool?”

“Fuck you, I used up all of my emotional sensitivity creeping on cluckbeast progeny shellscraps when we had our talk, a talk _you_ forced me to have. So it’s your fault if I’m not appropriately affectionate toward members of the team.”

Terezi stuck out her tongue and picked up her coffee. She didn’t even sip it before sniffing and deciding it was too revolting to ingest. She spoke instead. “And… about our team…”

“What?”

“What’s Gamzee’s status?”

Vriska froze. “He’s been acting skeevy ever since our meteor journey began. You and I agreed to blackball him.”

“I know…”

“Why are you doubting this all of the sudden? He’s a murderous clown with a creepy doll and he has absolutely no place on our team.”

“Yeah, but _you’re_ a murderer, too. And that’s not even counting the hundreds of kids you fed to your lusus.”

“Hey, you helped!”

“Of course I helped! I admit that! But if we’re judging who gets to be on the team solely by whether or not they’ve murdered people, I think the whole team might just be only Karkat! I can’t remember if Rose or Dave get to be on the team, but even _if_ they get to stick around, that lineup stands no chance of beating the enemies that will be waiting for us in the new session.”

“Not even with the new kids, or Jade and John?”

A few lines appeared between Terezi’s eyebrows. “We need _everyone_ we can get, murderers included. We can’t ignore any potential resources.”

“How did you witness a version of Gamzee beat a version of Tavros— _Tavros_ , who we always thought he kind of had a thing for—into grub paste and suddenly decide he should be part of the team?”

“Because he did that in Karkat’s name. And you remember how much damage he did to the Black King during our Reckoning. He’s _powerful_ , and if he’s on our side we might just have an easier time winning.”

“I’m just… really dumbfounded you’re even suggesting this. Like, are you some kind of doomed Terezi who replaced the real one?”

“I’m not saying we should just be idiots about it and give him a free pass.” A more familiar draconic smile appeared on her face. “He’ll have to stand _trial_ first. Maybe it won’t be our flashiest affair, since I doubt he’ll play along with a proper courtblock RP scenario, but I think it’s fair to say he belongs on the team if he can do one simple thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Swear his allegiance to our crew, to finish what we started and secure a new universe so we may live in peace.”

“Are you insane, he’ll just lie!”

“ _And_ …” Terezi paused for dramatic effect. “He has to swear that oath with his stupid clown makeup cleaned off.”

That made Vriska raise her eyebrows. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. I didn’t really care what he put on his face when it was just about his devotion to amusing slam poets on a paradise planet, but I heard about some of the messages he sent to Karkat when he snapped. The gist seemed to be that, since he embodied the Mirthful Messiahs, that meant it was time to kill us all. Therefore, the Mirthful Messiahs want us dead. Gamzee can’t be a clown cultist and an ally at the same time.”

“That makes a lot more sense. I thought you were just going to invite him into rainbow rumpus party town without so much as a flick on the nose for his shittiness.”

“I never flicked you on the nose…”

“John beat you to it. With his fist.”

“That’s not the _same_. He was cheating.”

“Cheating.”

“With that scarf! The one Karkat has!”

“What was on that thing?”

“I don’t _know_! It’s so stupid!”

“If it means that much to you, I’ll get the scarf.”

Terezi’s frustration stopped. “Really? You’d do that?”

“It involves manipulating a chumpy boy! It’ll be a breeeeeeeeze.”

“Then… thanks, Vriska.”

Vriska wanted to brag about her ability to do something Terezi couldn’t. But something took the wind out of her sails before she could. Maybe it was the way Terezi smiled when Vriska said she’d help.


	21. Critical Collection

_Nepeta couldn’t find cover, but she and the Chimeric walked far enough down the beach for the surf to drown out their voices. She had so many questions on the tip of her tongue and had no idea which one to ask first. The secrecy? The artifact? The symbols? Its purpose? Its location? Even once they reached an acceptably private distance, the Chimeric stayed silent. So apparently Nepeta had to speak._

_“What the hell?” she stated._

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_“Just. What the hell. Start talking about what I saw.”_

_“This is hardly an elegant way to broach an extremely complex and sensitive topic.”_

_“Sensitive my ass. We wrote that decalogue together, and trust was the sixth edict. Not only that, what if you had run into a patrol on your way to the whatever-it-was? You could have been caught, killed. And you risked everyone else’s lives for what, some pictures on a rock?”_

_“From a certain perspective, that appears to be the case.”_

_“Don’t start getting turn-of-phrase-y on me. You need to prove you know what you’re doing and that we are right to put our trust in you, and you need to do it quick.”_

_They continued on down the beach toward some rocky outcroppings. Nepeta and the Chimeric had to pay more attention to their feet as they approached. He answered Nepeta’s question with what sounded like a canned answer. “I’m just running some errands. They’re a parallel project to our revolution.”_

_Nepeta wanted to grab his shirt and shake him. Or claw at any piece of him she could reach until he talked straight. But, she knew a far more effective incentive. “Give me a good explanation or I’ll start howling at the others about what I saw. Answer me privately, or answer everyone publicly.”_

_“What? Tameless, please—”_

_“You’re damn right I’m Tameless. I am a wild animal and you can’t tell me ‘be reasonable’ or ‘think logically.’ Tell me what I want to know,_ now. _”_

 _She and the Chimeric reached the rocks, calf- and thigh-high around them, and even taller up ahead. He stopped and chose one of the rocks to use as a seat where he could look toward the bay, the_ Absolution _in the distance and the ocean beyond. Nepeta remained standing, eyes trained on him. He ran his hand through his hair, then stopped to tug a tuft of it down his face. He scowled at it, released it, looked down, and took a deep breath._

_“I don’t suppose you’ll accept ‘prophecy’ as an answer?”_

_“I might. What’s the prophecy?”_

_“That’s just it. It’s in pieces. And…_ this _is in pieces. And every single moment since the damned chimera found me, I’ve been trying to find the thread that connects it all.”_

_Nepeta shook her head. Seeing how confused the Chimeric was about this did not inspire confidence. “Start with something simpler. What did you find at that data center?”_

_“A rock with symbols on it.”_

_“I could see that. And?”_

_“And that’s what I know about it, too. It’s a piece of a code but I have absolutely no way to guess what it’s a code for. The chimera didn’t think I needed that knowledge, apparently.”_

_“That’s really crazy.”_

_“Thank you for informing me of that, I was unaware that chasing pictographic rocks in secret qualified as ‘crazy’ behavior.”_

_She hissed a bit at him, a habit she was starting to re-learn, but she pulled her teeth back quickly. “Sorry. But why is this so important? And I can already tell you have no idea what its purpose is in the long run. What I mean is, why do you have to do this?”_

_“Predestination, I suppose. A chain of events that must be completed in order to continue.”_

_“Then why do you have to do it alone?”_

_“I’ve been trying to limit the number of times I invoke the magical mystery beast whose existence is in a perpetual state of doubt. So long as this team focuses on reforming the social order, everything should still fall into place.”_

_“Hang on… ‘fall into place?’ Aren’t we recruiting trolls to build a new society?”_

_“You see what I mean? That_ should _be the goal. It’s the better goal overall, the one that might actually change things, and it makes sense, and it involves all of these people around me that, against my better judgment in a variety of cases, I have come to care very deeply about!” The Chimeric let out the rest of his breath in a sigh. “But there’s more that needs to happen. If I don’t complete the errands, the whole rebellion will be rendered pointless. And, if I don’t raise a rebellion, I can’t finish the errands.”_

_Nepeta considered that apparent paradox for a moment, then decided she should be in this for the long haul. She stepped up onto the Chimeric’s rock and crouched beside him, ‘sitting’ like a roarbeast. “So... you’re conning us.”_

_“Yes and no.”_

_“Which is it?”_

_“No, I’m not conning you, because our victories, our decalogue, our movement, our philosophy are all true and real and this kind of social change is_ desperately _overdue. But yes, I am conning you, because I have ulterior motives that I need to complete. The decalogue is a real chance to build credibility. Asking people to join me on a cosmic fetch quest will cast further doubt on not only my sanity, but everyone else’s.”_

_Even seeing his point, Nepeta couldn’t help feeling frustrated with him. “If I accept that, it still wasn’t right for you to run off on your own. We could have lost you and then the entire rebellion would be over, con or not.”_

_“I know that won’t happen.”_

_“That’s arrogant of you.”_

_“Well, that certainty came with a price.”_

_“What price?”_

_The Chimeric shook his head. “You are relentless… And you’re encroaching on the things that only a moirail should know.”_

_“Does he know?”_

_“Which part?”_

_“Any of what you’ve said so far.”_

_“No.”_

_“So you do keep secrets from him?”_

_“The comparison isn’t perfect, but you kept your pain secret from Guardian Trueshot, didn’t you?”_

_“That’s not fair, we’re talking about you.”_

_“It’s more than fair. Why didn’t you tell him that civilization, society, manners, culture, made you miserable?”_

_Nepeta looked at her feet, encrusted in dirt and wrapped in filthy bandages salvaged out of the gown she had run away in. “I didn’t want him to think I was ungrateful.”_

_“That’s untrue and you know it. I’ve met the Guardian Trueshot, and though my disagreements with him are innumerable, he would never assume your dissatisfaction came from a lack of gratitude. You weren’t afraid he’d hurt you. You were afraid to hurt him.”_

_“...Kinda.”_

_The Chimeric nodded, a wry smile appearing on his face. “We should consider forming a sub-committee to analyze this troubling social phenomenon. There is likely a very underserved and vulnerable population of young trolls coming into their own with pale affection for their primary culling provider.”_

_“Oh yeah? And when are you going to do that?”_

_“Eventually. I’m going to be busy for a while first, but I would be happy to collaborate with you on possible strategies for raising awareness.”_

_Nepeta paused a second. “Wait a minute, we’re off-topic.”_

_“Fuck, you noticed.”_

_“This is how it’s going to be. I am going to spend my every waking moment tracking you like my next meal, looking for some evidence that you’re up to no good, unless you can convince me here and now that you know what you’re doing. And you’re doing a terrible job of making your own case.”_

_“I was trained as a Guardian, not a Vigilant.”_

_“Answer my fucking questions! Why are you keeping things from the Mirthful, after all he’s suffered to stay with you?”_

_“I’ve… already spoken with him about a lot of it. The prophecy showed me the distant apocalypse, and some wigglers, and a terrible war they will have to fight.”_

_“How does it all end?” Nepeta couldn’t resist a small quip._

_“Meteor storm.”_

_“And the war that follows is among the survivors?”_

_The Chimeric opened his mouth, stopped, and looked thoughtful for a second. “…Yes, that’s actually very accurate. At least, as far as I can tell.”_

_“So why is that the only part you’ve talked about with him?”_

_“It just came naturally. Those were the parts that caused me the most emotional distress. The end of the world, the death of the species, and the wigglers—there’s no justice in what’s going to happen to them. Even though this rebellion will be a huge step in the right direction, the only way we could have avoided their fate entirely is if the Compasse abolished all culling when I asked her to. I feel helpless and it sucks. That’s what the Mirthful knows.”_

_The sound of the surf filled the space for a minute. Nepeta tried to imagine what this mysterious ‘war’ would look like, since all the Chimeric could say about it was it would be unfair. The best she could visualize, it looked like young wigglers turned loose in the wilderness with no tools, lusus, or knowledge to protect them._

_Yet, she wasn’t satisfied she had the whole story. “So… what doesn’t he know?”_

_“How we get from here to there. I haven’t had the proper journaling tools to document this part, and frankly I don’t think it should be documented. It’d be vulnerable. I have a series of locations around Beforus in my head. I know what they look like and roughly where they are. I know that at each location, I can find a rock with symbols on it. They need to be copied, assembled, and recorded in a new form. And then the troll who kills me will be responsible for making sure the completed code is in the right place.”_

_That was more information in the span of a minute than the Chimeric had shared all conversation, and it answered almost all of her questions except for_ why _. Why was any of this necessary? Why were the rocks scattered in the first place? Why did it have to fall to the Chimeric, who to all eyes, had a job to do much bigger than playing archaeologist? “Wait a minute, the troll who kills you?”_

_The Chimeric’s lips pressed together before he spoke. “This is how I know I won’t die. Not yet. Everything that the chimera shared with me for me to do must happen before my death. There’s a lot, more than you might expect. Then I’ll start to see warning signs, and then I’ll die.”_

_“…How_ will _you die?”_

_“I’ve seen my killer’s face. Not just in the vision. We’ve met before. And I think by the time I die, I will have completely and utterly earned it. I shall receive a span-terminal sentence, in the sense that my span will be terminated. The first and final scarletblood of the Beforan age, or perhaps more like crimson insect innards smeared against a window…”_

_Nepeta scooted a little closer to him. She hadn’t really known him to ramble like this before. Even when he spoke nonsense, he usually had such drive and conviction behind his words Nepeta followed them anyway. And after the death of the Stalwart, he hadn’t rambled; he had shut up. “Hey… are you okay?”_

_“I’m not,” he admitted freely. “I’m really, really not. But I’m coping, for everyone’s sake. And I will spare you the duty of caring for my fragmented feelings.”_

_Nepeta stayed where she was, but asked no more questions. The Chimeric didn’t say anything either. She tried to wrap her head around what she had just heard. Rationalize it, figure out what was actually going on here. The Chimeric’s goals seemed to spiral around each other, connected at more points than Nepeta could count. While it would be possible to lead a rebellion without traveling the world to pick up artifacts of an unknown purpose, the Chimeric had some prophecies that said the rebellion would not succeed unless he took those detours. Nepeta had to agree with his point earlier that the explanation behind his furtive behavior sounded more insane than sound. How many people would stay if they knew they were part of a decoy army for the Chimeric’s collectibles quest? Even if he swore that it was the path to victory?_

_As part of a completely separate revelation, Nepeta felt kind of surprised that the Chimeric had found a way to weaponize knowledge of his own death. The confidence that he would survive a supposed great number of battles would be critical to inspiring his followers, since trolls were naturally such a violence-shy species. Nepeta had to keep reminding herself of that; apart from miraculous outliers like herself and a small number of specially trained elites, most trolls in Beforus lacked any kind of skill to fight. Seeing the Chimeric’s stained scarlet shirt in the midst of a battle, blazing and fighting, would keep the rebellion strong. All he had to do was keep careful watch of when he was running out of predestined events. But then, what would happen to the rebellion when the Chimeric—their figurehead, if not their commander—died? His invulnerability might make him look like an immortal to some._ What happens when a god dies?

_“You need to tell us,” Nepeta said at last. “Not all of us. But at least some of us. Seafarer. Mirthful. Anyone else you trust enough.”_

_“I know I do.”_

_“You’re not making it easier by waiting.”_

_“I’ve got time. I’d rather be spending my time right now dancing, but thanks to a certain feral roarbeast, I am missing crucial revelry time.”_

_“Are you a Guardian or aren’t you? No way would a Guardian shy away from responsibility for hedonistic joy.”_

_“Hedonistic, that’s a better word...”_

_“Thank you. But you have a multitude of poor, unfortunate trolls relying on your wisdom and strength. One could reasonably call it your duty to provide guidance in the event of your death. Even when that death appears to be scheduled.”_

_“You have found my greatest weakness: loquacious argumentation.” The Chimeric rolled his eyes. “Mirthful will know by the end of the night. I’ll even spare you the trouble of coming up with a threat against me. How about this: tomorrow, after I’ve spoken to him, the Mirthful should tell you he knows about my errands. Are those acceptable terms for your blackmail?”_

_“Asshole,” Nepeta muttered. ‘Self-aggrandizing martyr’ also came to mind, but was less punchy. “And what about the Seafarer?”_

_“The Seafarer has shown far less interest in these activities, and has already proved himself willing to construct a battle plan around them.”_

_“Then you should at least tell him about your death.”_

_“What is there to tell? We will all die eventually.”_

_“There’s got to be signs or omens you can tell him about. Something that will help him know which battle will be your last, and what he’s supposed to do after.”_

_“This is assuming he doesn’t die with me.”_

_“Have you foreseen that?”_

_“Not at all. I have no idea how you or anyone else dies. Just me.”_

_“That’s… a relief,” Nepeta said. “But still. He’s a fish and he’s got anywhere from twice to a hundred times the lifespan of any troll here. Statistically, he’ll be the one to watch over the rebellion if you die.”_

_“I’ve let it slide up until now, but while we’re here and talking, I should really let you know that it’s intensely problematic to conflate seadwellers with actual fish. Though they share scales, gills, fins, and low-temperature blood with many aquatic species, it’s more accurate to think of them as amphibians, like frogs—”_

_“Aaagh, fine! I can’t take any more of this!” Nepeta punched the Chimeric on the shoulder, hard enough to make him groan and probably bruise. Then she hopped off the rock and started to stomp her way back to the bonfire._

_Fuck the Chimeric. Fuck him! He could be so insufferable! And the worst part, Nepeta knew he did it on purpose. She had seen him be a deliriously competent leader at least a hundred times, including earlier that same night. So when he went off on tangents about the exact social implications of metaphorical references, he did it on purpose. To fuck with her. Nepeta found that unforgivable. So fuck him back._

_Either way, she had her answers now. She knew what to do with some of them, but not with others. And since in reality, the Chimeric didn’t know what to do with some of his answers either, she felt confident she was at least on the same page as him. She could stand tall beside him and face the impending danger together._

_But first, she would dance. Specifically, once she reached the fire’s glow again, she found the formerly unlucky violetblood and quite roughly tugged on his arm to steal him away from his current partner._

_“What in the name a—”_

_“Shut up, frog. I want my turn to dance.”_

_“Who are you callin' a frog?!”_

_“I’ve been informed seadwellers have more in common with frogs than fish,” Nepeta repeated to him, taking hold of his hands to find a place in the firelight for themselves. “And that it’s a_ problem _to call you a fish.”_

_“I don’t see the problem. Seadweller culture has embraced cultivated our similarities to fish for millions a sweeps.”_

_“Tell that to the bastard with the red shirt.”_

_If the Seafarer wanted to say anything else, Nepeta interrupted him by dragging him along with the music. They picked up speed to match pace with a coarse, sloppy, improvised kind of dance that would never have graced a coolblooded ballroom. He danced like he had flippers for feet, but Nepeta could think of far worse flaws for a person to have._


	22. What A Crescendo

Kanaya wished that the sudden screaming confrontation in the lounge had been the end of her worrying. She should know better. Kanaya always worried.

Rose spent all of her time in her respiteblock now. Dave had assured Kanaya that it was free from all of the human soporifics, and while radio silence from Rose provoked more anxiety than the situation called for, she had to suppose no news was good news. She remembered messages riddled with typos and tangents, evidence that Rose had been contacting her while inebriated. Surely if she were drinking again, the resolve to treat Kanaya to the element of silence would crumble. Right?

 _Or you could send a message to her, you grub_.

Well, that would be the course of action for someone not paralyzed by utter terror that the recent events which had led to the cancellation of a highly anticipated first date with Kanaya’s first actually reciprocated flushcrush had changed the nature of their relationship. Rose had said ‘reschedule,’ but what did that mean? If she actually wanted to reschedule, wouldn’t she contact Kanaya? She was drunk at the time; did she remember she had said that? What if she had only done that to buy time so she could hide forever and never see Kanaya again?

It would help if she had somewhere else to go about this. Kanaya did not know when she would be speaking to Vriska again. Terezi joined her sister on Kanaya’s shit list by association. Dave was… Dave. And even when Kanaya could get ahold of Karkat to spend some time together, he seemed distant and preoccupied.

“I would like to assure you it is my utmost intention to ask this question in a way that cannot be construed as prying or meddling, but is everything okay?” Kanaya asked him once.

His eyes looked wide, but he said, “Everything’s fine! Fucking dandy! Or at least, as fine as things can be on a gross slab of rock hurling near the speed of light through infinite void. You would think Aradia and Sollux could have given us a bigger push, but nope, turns out the telekinetic magic has its limits right when we need it most!”

“I thought the amount of time we had to spend in the furthest ring had to be fixed in order to ensure our arrival at the new session, lest we arrive too early or too late and find nothing but more void.”

“Fuck, you’re right. I’m sorry if my nerves are frazzled.”

“They’ve always been frazzled.”

“Then you’re used to it, and you won’t be surprised if I flip my fucking shit for the billionth time. Anyway, was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Right after Karkat admitted the elevated probability of a shit-flipping? “No, I’m fine.”

She tried reading. She tried sewing. She couldn’t garden because nothing approximating soil existed in the meteor. She picked up some knitting needles that Rose had left in her block, but couldn’t figure out how to knot the yarn to the needles to even get started. She threw the metal implements and woolbeast material at the wall in disgust… and then carefully put them on a table, re-rolling the yarn into a neat little ball for good measure.

She would even visit Rose’s door and wait on the other side, not knocking. She could barely stay a minute the first time she went, but the longer the door stayed closed, the bolder Kanaya felt, and the longer she waited.

After a few more approximate days of metaphorically twiddling her thumbs, the meteor collided with a dreambubble while Kanaya was door-sitting. Specifically, she had been sitting with her back braced against the block entrance when a memory of LODAG transformed her surroundings from gray walls to lush green fields, full of curly fronds waiting to unfurl.

“…Kanaya?”

She twisted around, her stomach dropping out to realize that the dreambubble had replaced Rose’s solid metal wall with one made of transparent glass. Rose could see her. _Shit, shit shit…_ “Hello,” Kanaya said, her tone inappropriately casual and tense at the same time. Caught in the act, Kanaya couldn’t pretend she had been waiting in the hallway for any other reason.

Rose looked… sad. Kanaya couldn’t tell if she was better or worse. She was on her bed, legs curled to the side like she had just pushed her body up from lying down. The focus in her eyes and stability of her body suggested improvements, but the total lack of makeup and little snarls in her hair contradicted them. She looked old. Old and sad.

“Hi,” she said.

“I should go,” Kanaya said. “I don’t exactly have a reason to be here in the first place, since this is your respite block and not mine and the hallway possesses almost no entertainment value without the addition of some other material—”

“No, wait.” Rose moved slowly, but she stood up and then drifted into the air, flying up further and further until she cleared the lip of the bubble’s fishbowl and then touched down on Kanaya’s side of the glass. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh—okay. Neat.” _Neat?! Kanaya Maryam, you idiot, put your foot in your mouth this instant!_

“Yeah. I thought we could talk, about… Stuff. Like, is that a new skirt?”

“What?”

“Your skirt, it looks new,” Rose said. “I mean, it’s still red, with buttons, but it looks… new.”

“Oh, no, this isn’t a new one. I’m fairly positive this is one of the originals that I used as a template for alchemizing duplicates.”

“Fascinating.”

“It is?”

“Well, that you can remember. Or, identify, I guess, which skirt was a genuinely sewn article versus a synthetically reproduced copy.”

“Right. Well, I will add that to my list of talents that have little to no practical application.”

“Heh. I suppose it would be interesting to have a list of such skills.”

“Right, right.”

Kanaya folded her hands in front of her. Rose picked at a fingernail without looking down. So, Kanaya politely looked away, wondering what small talk had to do with what Rose wanted to say. Did this mean that she should say something instead? What could she even say? It was their date that had been ruined, but the altercation had been between Rose and Vriska. The Thief of Light would sooner die than ever admit wrongdoing of any kind, so maybe Kanaya should apologize on her behalf?

Breaking the silence created by Kanaya’s internal debate, Rose spoke first. “Sorry. For the awkwardness. The only reason the first word out of my mouth wasn’t ‘sorry’ in the first place is because I can’t begin to fathom how I can apologize for how shitty I was to you.”

“No, it’s not your fault—”

“It’s _only_ my fault. No one else drank all that booze for me. Or decided that escapism mattered more than responsibility. Or dropped anything even remotely resembling a ball when it came to finally going on a date with you. If I could have chosen a single day in my entire life to be sober, it should have been that one, and I still fucked it up. I hurt you, and…” Rose gestured outward with her hands, like a sarcastic ‘ta da.’ “And that is the extent to which I am able to describe in words how terrible I have been.”

“It really is okay,” Kanaya said. “I was hurt that you missed our date—”

“Vriska said you were _sobbing_. How could I show such little decency to someone I care about?”

“Please, trust me when I say I have forgiven people for a disgusting array of emotional injuries, but you are the first to actually deserve that forgiveness.”

“But I—”

“Rose!” Kanaya put her foot down. “The sheer fact you said the word ‘sorry’ in the first place, even though you feel it is incapable of expressing the breadth of your regret, is a new milestone in my life. I will absolutely be able to forgive you.”

Rose’s lips pressed together strangely, forming a flat line while her eyes grew wet.

“Wait, did I say something wrong?”

“Kanaya Maryam, you might want to consider placing your ability to quickly recover your composure after phenomenal distress on the list of talents that are both supremely useful and deeply admirable.”

Kanaya hesitated for a confused second, but as soon as she realized Rose’s statement was a compliment, she smiled. She loved Rose’s elaborate flattery. It was like unwrapping a present: a beautiful paper exterior, mysterious contents, and delight as Kanaya uncovered the secret inside. “I should mention I’m also glad to speak with you again. Like this.”

“Face to face?”

“No, um. Sober.”

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe, since you have already apologized and been forgiven, maybe we could take some time to discuss the reasons behind your beverage choices, in order to dissolve the temptation to continue drinking damaging liquids?”

Rose brushed some of her hair behind her ear. Her finger caught on a snarl, but she shook it off. “I think hearing you call them ‘damaging liquids’ destroys a lot of the appeal. It sounds like you’re describing drain cleaner, which is pretty accurate.”

“Still. Could we… try? To talk? I feel this conversation is long overdue in the first place.”

“You’re right. Sorry. Can we walk and talk? That could be easier.”

“Sure.”

Kanaya picked a direction which, on the meteor, would have led to the nutritionblock. In the memory collage, it led deeper into LODAG’s fields, with the horizon inexplicably dotted with towers from LOPAH and what looked like Jade’s tower hive. In Kanaya’s opinion, they walked quickly, or nervously, like they were trying to outrun the weird tension of this whole situation.

“So. Um,” Rose started. “You’re aware that my mother used to drink alcohol.”

“Yes, I was informed.”

“Didn’t you see?”

“I wasn’t interested in surveying the entirety of your timeline like Karkat did with John. I cared more about periods of your life when you were literate and had access to a computer.”

“That’s kind of nice too. Young humans have tremendously little demonstrable personality, and I’m glad you skipped over some of the more regrettable parts of my childhood.”

“We can discuss that later. Right now…”

“Right. My mother, who drank. A lot. I really hated it all. The way she smelled after drinking, the mess she left, the way she lost all sense of responsibility. I remember going to my first sleepover, and my mother was supposed to pick me up, but she got, as they say, ‘completely wasted’ while I was gone. I had to stay an extra night at that girl’s house because no one could contact my mom. The family was really concerned, they wanted to get the police involved, but I just knew… she forgot.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine, I think. Just past four sweeps.”

Kanaya appreciated Rose’s snappy temporal conversion. “You had a number of experiences like those?”

“None were that bad, but there were other incidents. But I also… lived with it. It felt inextricably linked to who she was as a person. And while I hated that being able to smell the liquor on her meant she was drunk, whenever I smell it now, I remember happy things. Little moments, good times. I felt closer to her.”

Their pace stayed steady, but the terrain beneath them started to change, like each step took them the distance of three instead. The grasses of LODAG thinned out into patches as mirror-smooth marble replaced them. The enormous orbs of water now shared space with LOWAA’s dark, towering cathedrals. Kanaya wanted to tap Rose on the shoulder and suggest they turn around, but she was still speaking.

“I’ve had so much time to think on this meteor about her life and all she accomplished. She was a brilliant and successful scientist. She raised a child alone, which is supposed to be a job for two or more humans. She had a fabulous income from mysterious sources, so she was prosperous… I started to think that my mom drank as much as she did to create peace for herself while endless, thankless work filled the rest of her life.”

“Did you feel… unthanked?” Kanaya ventured.

“I wanted my problems to go away. I wanted to have real dreams again, stupid and impossible dreams that don’t take place on a moon or in a bubble. And to my own credit, it worked, at the cost of my dignity, values, relationships, and physical health.” Rose scoffed. “I even convinced myself for a short while there that I had no chance with you.”

The phrase sounded familiar enough for Kanaya to guess what Rose meant, but for a statement like that, she had to be sure. “What chance with me?”

“A chance to date.” _I knew it!_ “All the Beforus research got stuck in my head, specifically how the Benevole and Prospera were matesprits, and you had known, but hid it. I was so stupid.”

“You honestly thought I would want to go out with Vriska, just because of our alternate ancestors? I believe the correct idiom here is, ‘that ship has sailed.’ And then sunk. Because it was a terrible ship and Vriska is a terrible person.”

“Yes, but you’re forgetting one thing,” Rose said, a sour tone seeping into her voice. “Vriska is a _winner_. I was more worried that she would take an interest in you and then do something underhanded and Vriska-like to… win. And it’s gross to talk about you like a trophy given out to sport champions, but you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Kanaya said. “Rose, I’m so sorry, I was one of the reasons you drank!”

“It was an excuse, I know this now.”

“Nevertheless, if I had said something sooner, or made my feelings more clear, maybe you wouldn’t have worried—”

“Kanaya, I am deeply grateful for your forgiveness, but please allow me to keep the fault that needs forgiving. I made the decision to drink. All of the fault is mine.”

Kanaya stopped walking. The very possibility that she had contributed to Rose’s self-destructive impulse made her feel like the absolute worst person to ever exist. She loved Rose, and she wanted her to be happy. And instead, she had let Rose think that Vriska of all trolls still stood a chance. She glanced down, nervous, and noticed something familiar. The marble flagstones of the floor reflected Kanaya’s face back to her, but they also caught some of the designs in the ceiling and upper walls. And it reminded her of another place and time…

“Maybe it’s time I showed you something,” Kanaya said.

Rose paused. “What would that be?”

“I need you to step toward the side of this space, please. And this might take a few minutes, but I believe I have the experiences necessary for it not to take much longer.”

The Seer of Light obligingly took about three steps back, watching Kanaya curiously. What were the odds that Rose had already predicted what Kanaya wanted to do? Oh, it wasn’t like Kanaya could or would calculate them out that instant. Actually doing it was more important.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and focused. There were letters. For a moment, she realized she couldn’t remember the exact words that Porrim had quoted to her, but she shook the thought out. It didn’t matter the words, she needed the feeling. _My moonbeam, this separation is too great to bear. I miss everything about you, your smile, your glance, the touch of your hand, the sound of your words…_ Kanaya let her feet move, spinning around in a wide arc and following the steps of a long-forgotten dance. She remembered the pressure created between a heavy burden and a strong back, the feeling of community in her blood caste, the spark of life she held in her hand and nurtured into a flame. She remembered it all.

When she opened her eyes again, Kanaya knew it had worked. The cavernous LOWAA cathedral had been completely filled by the dimensions of the Beforan ballroom, erasing the cold and dark architecture with magnificent, metallic embellishments. A throng of people lined the sides of the room, all gray-faced, black-haired, and behorned, while sporting their caste colors brightly. Against that backdrop, Rose’s off-spectrum orange dress stood out immediately. Kanaya couldn’t stifle her own surprise when she saw that Rose’s jaw had dropped and there was some very alien-looking pink blush on her cheeks.

“We are going to have to watch so many Disney movies for you to comprehend exactly what I just witnessed you do,” Rose explained her shock. “That was… literally magical.”

“Thank you,” Kanaya said, warm in the face herself. “This is the memory where I got to step into the Benevole’s shoes for the first time. Porrim had some letters that the Benevole's matesprit had sent her, so I tried to use those words to remember what it might have been like to be… myself. In another time and place.” She felt a tickle in her throat, and coughed to clear it rather than risk marring her next words. “Though, I only found it because I was thinking of you.”

“Me?” Rose repeated.

Kanaya nodded, a little embarrassed that Rose wasn’t catching on (or was pretending to not catch on?) but also very happy that for the first time in a while, the Flighty Broads And Their Snarky Romantic Affection-o-Meter was in Kanaya’s favor. “The letters were… _excessively_ poetic, but they spoke of devotion and longing. And since that’s how I feel for you, that’s how I found this memory.”

Rose put one of her hands over her mouth, leaving just the flushed tint on her cheeks and her wide eyes visible. Though Rose mostly looked at Kanaya’s face, the troll noticed her gaze flick down and back up. After a moment, she spoke: “I don’t mean to downplay the resolution of our tumultuous path toward romance, but have you noticed what you’re wearing?”

She had not. When she had first found this memory she had been too distracted, and this time so far she had been focusing on Rose. She looked down to see her clothes had transformed into a ball gown of black-jade fabric woven in a way that shimmered like an aurora, with sparkling crystals sewn throughout. The dress continued up to a suntop bodice, and instead of sleeves she had long gloves, so comfortable she hadn’t even noticed they were there. Or, the whole thing was a memory and the point was moot. But Kanaya had never created, owned, or worn a dress this fancy before.

“…I have noticed it now,” Kanaya responded at last. “I suppose I should have expected to be wearing something opulent, since this does appear to be some kind of celebration.”

“Agreed. You just look…” Rose trailed off, closed her mouth, and then tried a few more times to continue. “…indescribable. In the most completely positive sense of the word.”

Kanaya laughed a little. “I will take pride in the accomplishment of rendering the awesome vocabulary of Rose Lalonde useless for a moment.”

“Yes, you have definitely earned that achievement.”

They could go back and forth with little witty compliments, but Kanaya had a different idea. She had no idea what to do with her arms while she asked this question, so she just left them folded low on her chest. “Would you like to dance with me? In this memory?”

“Dance?” Rose’s eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I can, the dance you used to invoke this memory looked extremely intricate…”

It didn’t feel intricate. Was Rose nervous? “It’s okay, we don’t have to do that dance. But this memory is a far more appropriate venue for dancing than anywhere else we have encountered thus far, isn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that.” But then Rose asked, “What do trolls dance like?”

This time Kanaya felt surprised. “Oh! I don’t believe trolls ever developed common cultural dances the way humans did. Or at least, Alternians didn’t. A great number of trolls moving together in a synchronized fashion is a battle regiment.” Rose looked a little perturbed by this answer, so Kanaya did the only logical thing and kept talking. “I mean, this isn’t to say that my people are completely senseless to artistic physical movements! I’m fairly certain that every troll, or possibly every sentient creature, has had the experience of dancing around one’s respite block in, I suppose, jubilation or a number of other emotions that could inspire motion of profound similarity to dance.”

“You’re rambling,” Rose snuck a word in edgewise, smiling softly.

Kanaya covered her own face with her gloved hands now. “Ugh, I don’t mean to, I promise.”

“It’s okay. I’m more curious about what you looked like when you experienced the kind of jubilation that caused you to dance around your respite block.”

Kanaya’s dignity cried out against that request, but a stronger, long-denied voice said, _what the hell_. Okay, dancing, dancing… She lifted up her arms around shoulder-level and wiggled them around, like she could feel sunlight on her skin and wanted to bask in it. The movement traveled down her torso and hips, but for now she kept her feet rooted. The dance lasted only a few seconds before the dignified part of her shut it down. “So… yes. That’s dancing. Sorry, I’m not really accustomed to moving in this dress.”

“You could swap out of it, since it’s just a memory.”

“I will part with this dress only when our meteor leaves the dreambubble and not a moment earlier.”

Rose laughed. “Understood. I do like your dance.”

“What about you? Have you ever danced around your respite block?”

Rose paused, before she started a little dance of her own. She took one hand, pointer finger extended, and stuck it in the air, and then moved it to her opposite hip, and back up. Her other hand rested on her hip, which bounced back and forth a bit. The motion looked rather silly, but more importantly, restrained.

“I refuse to believe that is your dance of jubilation,” Kanaya called her out.

“You’re right, it’s just shitty disco,” she said. “Worth a try though.”

“We can do better than this.” Kanaya gathered up a handful of her skirt and tried adding some steps to her one wiggly arm. Rose followed along, more or less, and waved her hands in a pattern that reminded Kanaya of the fancy needlekind combat Rose had performed early in her session. Well, even if it came from fighting, the freer and bolder movement was an improvement over ‘shitty disco.’ Kanaya dropped her skirt back down and decided to accomodate for its mass in another way: twirling. She heard Rose laugh, and then she was laughing too, and as she spun around she could see Rose had joined her, a beautiful spot of sunlight.

This was stupid.

Kanaya didn’t care.

She reached out and managed to take Rose’s hand. The new point of contact tripped both of them up, but they compensated until they were hand in hand, leaning back and spinning around the phantom ballroom. Faster, faster, faster, until Kanaya tripped, and she pulled Rose down with her, until they were sprawled out on the floor beside each other. The impact may have bruised, but in a strange way, the hurt felt healing. It matched the jubilant ache in Kanaya’s abdomen.

When their laughter finally slowed, Kanaya glanced over at Rose. The sadness, the age, had rolled back, and Kanaya remembered when she had seen Rose for the first time, floating like a goddess–she was, wasn’t she?–and wreathed in the Green Sun’s light. And there it was again, that impulse to kiss Rose, but how could she? They were two arms’ length away from each other, still holding hands; was Kanaya supposed to roll and wiggle her way over like an engorged land-seal?  

“Kanaya…” Rose spoke before Kanaya could move. “Will you give me another chance to be your matesprit?”

She smiled, and felt mostly sure she glowed, too. “I will.”


	23. Let My Heart Be

_Feferi had lived through some unproductive meetings in her centuries as Empress, but this one carried an undercurrent that left all participants paralyzed. The circle of trolls around her—roughly two dozen, all seadwellers except for one troll with dark blue eyes, serving as her highest viceroys and generals—had a printed copy of the Chimeric’s manifesto in front of them. The plan had been to understand why he had written it, who it would appeal to, and how to keep them from answering its call. But, that meant discussing the document from the point of view of someone who would find its message appealing. And to admit such an opinion in the presence of Her Radiant Compassion was treason._

_“The fifth article, centered around the idea of collaboration, seems to deliver the strongest message to trolls who may be nervous about joining the revolt,” one finned face said, but she quickly followed with, “which is still a vile act that no reasonable troll should consider.”_

_Another answered, “I agree with you—which is to say, I disagree entirely that the idea itself is appealing, it’s reprehensible—but the helpless warmer classes may interpret that passage as a substitute for culling. But again, culling as a system is already approaching perfection…”_

_“We should stay cautious of the first two articles. They’re absolutely wrong, speaking against our radiant Compasse and the hemospectrum itself, but there’s some persuasive—yet incorrect!—logic in here that could sway lesser minds.”_

_Feferi massaged her temples. “I’ve already_ told _you, you all have permission to speak freely regarding this document! We gain nothing by talking in circles!”_

_The elites shifted in discomfort. “I beg your forgiveness, your Radiance, but discussing these ideas uncritically feels like we’re legitimizing them,” one of them said._

_She had expected this, to a degree. Many of the trolls in the room had witnessed the Chimeric’s first explosive break from sanity. Seeing him go this far, turning those ravings into a document that he had distributed to the entire world, and staining his hands with blood on his way there, unsettled them more than she expected. Some gentle encouragement would not be enough._

_Not to mention, Feferi had already read through the decalogue herself. The Chimeric’s skills of debate and persuasion stayed powerful, unrelenting as the tide. She wouldn’t admit this aloud to her already frightened elites, but she agreed with him on possibly every point. The only disagreement between them was the timeline: where Feferi would want to introduce these concepts gradually, the Chimeric demanded they all happen at once. And he’d tear everything Feferi had ever built to shreds to get his way._

_“Let’s try this,” Feferi said. “I will send for pen and paper. All of you will write your unfiltered and unsigned thoughts about the decalogue’s strengths and how they target the weaknesses of culling. I will collect these anonymous comments, read them, and set new agenda items. And you have my_ promise _, each and every one of you will still have your job no matter what I read, even if I receive_ unanimous praise _for the Chimeric’s arguments!”_

_The mostly-violet eyes stared at her, but eventually mumbled assent passed through them. After all, they couldn’t disagree with the Empress._

_“Thank you. Now, please excuse me for a moment.”_

_Feferi stood up and made her way to the door, where a half dozen more trolls waited on the other side. She took a deep breath before opening it. The trolls who reported to the Seafarer now required her authorization to act, and her own workload had essentially doubled. She couldn’t even stay still for more than ten minutes to have a discussion about the counterterrorism strategy that could bring the Seafarer back to her._

_“Yes, proceed accordingly. Wait for a report from the Examiner. No, there aren’t resources to begin that initiative now. Submit that to me in writing. Delegate that to the Guardians.”_

_The trolls gradually dispersed, scurrying off with new orders, clearing the way for one of her cerulean-blooded attendants. He bowed before speaking. “Your Radiance, there is a call waiting for you from your executive agents.”_

_She brightened. Lawscale and Prospera! This at least qualified as a change of pace. “Thank you. I’ll answer that now, and in the meantime, could you gather pens and paper for my cabinet? They are doing an essay exercise for me. And… proctor them as well, will you?”_

_He bowed again. “Yes, your Radiance.”_

_Feferi let the attendant lead her through the halls. She didn’t actually need an escort to reach her own study, but the presence of another bureaucrat would keep anyone hoping for five minutes of her time from bothering her on the way to this call. She could easily be delayed for an hour or more with the number of people who needed just five minutes of her attention._

_She had lost sleep answering everyone. She only got to rest one out of every three days, and even then she rarely saw sopor. But, she’d keep going. Too many trolls depended on her for her to ever stop. She was the Compasse, after all. She’d have plenty of time to rest when the Deep Abdication called her. She wanted to rest with the satisfaction of knowing she had done good with her life._

_Once she arrived at her study, she dismissed her attendant and took a seat at her desk. The call had a video along with it. She doubted the camera quality would be any good, but one or both of her special investigators must have decided they needed to see each other’s faces. Feferi accepted the call and offered the two blurry trolls the most encouraging and not-exhausted smile she could._

_“Lawscale! Prospera! I’m so happy to hear from you two again!” she greeted. “How have you been? Are you getting along well?”_

_Lawscale answered with a stony expression. “While our methods are rarely in sync, we have managed to achieve an equilibrium to assist in the investigation.”_

_Prospera shrugged. “This is still better than prison, so no complaints from me.”_

_Feferi laughed. ‘Unlikely partners’ still felt like such a simple, uncomplicated problem to deal with while the rest of Beforus rattled around her. “Well, I have the utmost confidence in your abilities! The Chimeric’s current actions have defied prediction thus far, but I am positive your analyses of his movements will be critical to his capture!”_

_“It’s funny you should mention things that defy prediction…” Prospera said, but Lawscale elbowed her._

_“Take this seriously!” the Vigilant snapped._

_“Oh, my mistake, I thought we wanted to_ tell _the Compasse what we had discovered.”_

_“With decorum!”_

_“What have you discovered?” Feferi cut in. They had no time for decorum._

_The resolution of the video feed would not let her read their expressions with nuance, but the pair of them carried tension in their faces. Like they had bad news._

_“Your Radiance… One of the components of the Chimeric’s attack on that data center was cover fire from a sniper on a nearby building. Based on scorch marks left around the barracks door, we determined the weapon to be a plasma rifle.”_

_“The Seafarer brought Ahab’s Crosshairs with him to apprehend the Chimeric,” Feferi summarized. She knew the shining blue rifle well, and how the Seafarer had been a responsible custodian of its power for centuries. “I’ll be sure to update all law enforcement of the dangers.”_

_“About that,” Prospera picked up. “The Crosshairs were being used to intimidate security guards from leaving their barracks, and not a single troll attempting to leave was even singed. I know the criminals on the Chimeric’s side quite well, and not a single one of them could handle a rifle of that power with that much precision. And of course the students from the culling institution did not become expert marksmen during their short spell of freedom.”_

_Feferi felt a sudden chill on the back of her neck. “…Yes, and?”_

_“Well, I conducted an independent investigation—”_

_“She went rogue and impersonated a Vigilant to gain access to security footage from the building the sniper used as a perch,” Lawscale interrupted. “They had a break-in at the same time as the attack on the data center, and security footage captured a man with the Crosshairs climbing to the roof. While we could not explicitly confirm his blood color, every trait we were able to identify from the video matches the Seafarer’s description.”_

_“What?” Hardly her most elegant response, but she had to say something._

_“He wore a scarf and hood, but his height, build, and identifiable horn shape are all matches to the Seafarer.”_

_“Not to mention, no impostor would be able to make those shots,” Prospera added._

_“Exactly.” Lawscale’s words started to sound more clipped, like she had to force each individual one to leave her mouth. “He acted alone in the building. Which also meant there were no other rebels present. His actions are consistent with someone who is actively collaborating with the Chimeric’s rebellion.”_

_“But it’s impossible.” Feferi heard herself speak more than she felt her mouth move. “He’d never…”_

_“Your Radiance, I wish with every drop of my blood that I could draw a different conclusion. As impossible as this explanation is, it’s the only one that makes sense. The Seafarer has… defected.”_

_“Blackmail?” Was that her voice, so strained and weak?_

_“As a well-documented master of the concept, I can nearly guarantee you that no blackmail is in effect,” Prospera answered. “There is nothing the Chimeric could do or say that would make an unwilling Seafarer collaborate without supervisory guard at the_ least _. All the Chimeric has access to is material possessions—the_ Absolution _being one of them—which the Seafarer should gladly sacrifice to end the rebellion against you and earn his freedom. Unless he happened to agree with the Chimeric and wanted to advance his ideology.”_

_“But he hated the Chimeric… My moirail never wanted anything to do with him!”_

_“Your Radiance, with all due respect, I need hard proof against my conclusion in order to reverse it,” Lawscale said. “I promise you, both Prospera and I wish as badly as you do that this is not true. But the evidence as it stands is irrefutable.”_

_Feferi couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. She remembered once as a wiggler, she had swum down into the ocean as far as she could until the dark, empty chill of the water forced her back. She felt that chill around her now, except there was no turning back. The impossible had already happened._

Eridan, how could you?

_“Your Radiance?” Lawscale prompted. “What are your orders?”_

_Her orders? She had no orders. Her orders were to put out all the lights, drag down the window shades, and cry. Her orders were to scream and wail. Her orders were to swim down as deep as she could go and never come back. Her orders were to give up._

_“…Do nothing,” she managed to say. “He’s concealing his identity, right?”_

_“Yes, your Radiance.”_

_“Then we will continue like before. He is a prisoner of war. His rescue is of utmost importance.” She felt her fingers start to tremble, so she clasped them together. “News of… this… could bolster the Chimeric’s cause. It must be a secret that a seadweller, let alone… he… is a part of it.”_

_Lawscale nodded. “Understood. We will confirm that the rebels are in possession of Ahab’s Crosshairs and nothing else.”_

_“Thank you. Is that all?”_

_“It is.”_

_“Dismissed.”_

_The call ended without any other farewell. Feferi hugged herself as her body doubled-over in her seat, sobbing but somehow unable to shed a tear. Instead, she just choked on the pain inside of her, buried deep in her chest, like someone had stuck her through with her own trident._

How could you!?

 _The fact that it was true stayed irrefutable. Lawscale and Prospera had done their job and covered the case thoroughly. But_ how _, how, how could someone that Feferi knew and trusted better than anyone on the world do this? Had there been signs that she had missed? But she knew his every expression and gesture—she knew every step of his evening routine from leaving the recuperacoon to the final stroke of his hairbrush, she knew the ancient commanders he admired most, the relish with which he ate his first meals ashore after long voyages, how he exaggerated his emotions at every opportunity but never when she needed him to be her anchor—so how had she missed this? Had she failed to see budding sympathy for the Chimeric? Had he been persuaded to switch sides during his capture, or had he been planning to defect the instant he volunteered to pursue?_

Eridan, you promised I didn’t have to do this alone!

_He had lied._

_Someone knocked. Feferi called, “Leave it closed!” just in case the knocker was someone ‘unauthorized’ to see her pain. Then again, the only person with such permission was now fighting on her enemy’s side._

_“Your Radiance…” It was the voice of an attendant, the same one as before. “The cabinet is finished with their essays.”_

_It took her a moment to remember what she had been doing before she had taken that call. And she had even admitted that the Chimeric’s case was compelling; how could she go back and continue to debate those ideas knowing the Seafarer agreed with them? And it had taken her so much to convince the coolest bloods that their service was mandatory—and now the Seafarer proved otherwise. No matter the history, no matter the responsibilities, the Chimeric opened a door for anyone dissatisfied for any reason to simply abandon their lives and run._

Like Eridan.

_She took three deep breaths before she found her voice again. “Collect the papers and dissolve the meeting. I’ll review them… and call everyone back when ready.”_

_“Yes, your Radiance.”_

_The tears she had expected from the beginning caught up with her. They blurred her eyes and stung her cheeks and burned her lungs as she tried and failed and failed and failed to breathe. She hadn’t realized how much of her strength to carry this burden alone had been rooted in the faith that the Seafarer would someday be back to help her again. How could he leave all of this behind? His accomplishments, his friends, his mementos and memories,_ her _—_

_She really had to stop thinking in terms of ‘how could he.’ He already had. And from her perspective, it looked easy. What she really wanted to know was, why had he? Why had he decided a violent rebellion made more sense than imperial authority? Why had he left her life with no warning, no explanation? Had he been lying to her from the start? And what in the world—no, the universe—could have convinced him that he needed to lie to his own moirail? The relationship they shared had an obvious political function, but she had done everything in her power to show him support and care in turn, to thank him, to honor and pity him… What had she done wrong? Why hadn't it been enough?_

_Using all of her strength, Feferi pulled herself out of the chair, wiped her face, and stepped out into the hallway. She knew the shortest path to the submerged portion of the palace and half-ran, half-stumbled her way there, with the silks and ribbons of her raiment threatening to trip her. She risked being seen, undermining everything she tried to be as the Radiant Compasse, but she couldn’t stay on land a moment longer. So what if a stray servant or two saw her? Without context, their testimony would be irrelevant. She needed to be underwater. Maybe there she could breathe._

_As soon as her toes touched the water she leapt forward, diving expertly through the shallows and kicking her way deeper, deeper, deeper. The pressure of water on her body and the silence in her ears embraced her, and at least her gills could filter air better than her lungs. She passed the submerged halls that would lead to her respiteblock and kept swimming down, out the tunnels that channeled water in from the bay and from the ocean itself. The stone gave way to barnacles and coral and a multitude of sea creatures that made their homes around the palace. Sometimes brave fish or crustaceans would approach her, and she could feed or groom them. Now, nothing dared approach her._

_Suspended in the chilly depths, she continued to cry, tears mixing with the sea instead of falling. Her sobs echoed around the makeshift reef as she spilled her grief into the water._

Eridan… How am I supposed to fight you? How am I supposed to carry on?

_She lost complete track of time in the water, crying until she had nothing left inside her. And with her heart broken into pieces too heavy to pick up, she realized what she could do to carry on. She could multiply her power through collaboration. If she stood tall in the face of fear, she would prevail. Her strength, with determination, was limitless. All of the points of the Chimeric’s decalogue, his thesis of treason, could at least give her the will to fight._

_‘You’re too soft, Fef,’ the Seafarer used to tell her. She would giggle and insist she didn’t have to be tough; that was the Seafarer’s job. But now, she needed to be tough all on her own. Her heart must harden if she expected to survive, let alone win, this upcoming conflict._

_Whether she would be able to soften again when this was all over remained to be seen._


	24. Unexpected Sources

Getting a hold of Karkat was starting to drive Dave crazy. It kind of amazed him that he didn’t dream about the shouty troll sooner.

At first, Dave didn’t notice he had fallen asleep. He just found himself in Can Town, helping the Mayor color in floor tiles with white chalk to match a chessboard. He called out, “Hey Karkat, what’s the troll word for chalk?”

“It’s ‘chalk,’ you chucklefuck,” Karkat answered from behind a can tower, out of sight.

“No fucking way would your weird-ass alien culture not have a fancy word for chalk,” Dave said, doodling penises on the squares before filling them in and disguising them forever. “What about… chalky drawsticks?”

“Way to include the word ‘chalk’ in your fake troll name for chalk.”

“Fine, you come up with a better one.”

“I will, then!” Karkat thought for a minute, and then suggested, “Arenaceous implements?”

Dave froze. Like hitting his funny bone, his whole being reacted against that answer. Karkat hadn’t said that. He had said ‘washable scribble utensils for morons.’

“Fuck,” Dave muttered to himself. The imprint of the Mayor beside him vanished, and parts of the memory started to crumble as Dave became conscious of the dreambubble surrounding him. Pieces of the actual battlefield started to replace chunks of the Mayor’s two-tone floor tiles. “Karkat, are you actually here?”

“I’m pretty sure I am. Are you?”

“Yeah, I am. Where are you? It’s been fucking forever.”

“Has it?”

Dave stood up and looked around. A little more than half of what he saw still resembled Can Town; the rest was chunks of battlefield and a few piles of what looked like pure sugar with little teapots nestled on top. He ducked around one of the towers to look out at the shorter neighborhoods of Can Town, and discovered Karkat was actually here with him.

But he had white eyes.

“Oh,” Dave said, holding back disappointment. The ghost-Karkat shrugged.

“Apparently I’m not the Karkat you’re looking for,” he said. “You’re Dave, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Dave said. _And he died before meeting me?_ Something about that felt really depressing.

“Are you a dreamer or a ghost? I can’t tell with your shades.”

“I’m alive, thanks for asking. I’ve been better though.”

Karkat kind of smirked at Dave. “Yeah, I’ve been better too.”

“Awesome. Well, I didn’t exactly intend for now to be nap time, so maybe you could do me a favor and help me die or something so I can wake up?”

“Hang on, don’t wake up yet! I want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“The alpha timeline, I guess. It’s frustrating enough to know that all of your efforts ended in crushing and abject failure, but it’s even worse to know that the correct answer is out there somewhere and I am, once again, totally powerless to discover what I should have done instead.”

“Can’t you just talk to people?”

“Why, that’s a wonderful suggestion, Dave Human!” Karkat folded his arms across his chest. “I _will_ try talking to people! Why don’t I start with the person right in fucking front of me?!”

“Fine, I get it. No need to have a ragegasm at me,” Dave said. “But it would probably be better if you talked to the alpha Karkat, since he actually knows what happened. Good luck finding him though, dude almost never sleeps in the first place and he’s been ridiculously hard to get a hold of in general.”

Karkat scowled, eyebrows hanging low over his milky eyes. “Of course. Why would anything ever be easy? These dreambubbles are about as pleasant as slogging through a fucking swamp of half-rotted rodent intestines mixed with their feces.”

“I think that’s the most disgusting thing I have _ever_ heard you say.” Dave tried to look more grossed out than he felt. Mostly, Dave just felt happy to hear Karkat’s angry voice again.

“Whatever. So I take it you’re looking for him, too?”

“What? No.”

“You must be, since you’re apparently familiar with how slippery he’s been recently.”

“If I am, it’s not for anything in particular. He’s just kind of my best friend right now, since Rose is rehabbing herself, Kanaya is alternating between swooning and fretting over her, and Vriska and Terezi are fucking sistering it up all over the place.”

“So you’re lonely, and that’s it? I have to say, as a Karkat myself, that’s really fucking insulting to know that my-slash-his company is only appealing to you after you’ve scraped the bottom of the bulbous wooden container.”

“Don’t get your troll boxers in a knot. I’d choose to hang out with him even if there were other options. There just aren’t any, so it’s extra noticeable that he’s not around.”

“What is he doing?”

“If I knew, I’d go and find him doing it.”

This time, Karkat nodded. “Sounds frustrating as fuck.”

Since this Karkat was a ghost in the first place, Dave might as well admit it. “It is. Like the most we’ve done is send a few messages back and forth, just banal shit about what we’re up to, which is always nothing. And then I propose we hang out again, but it’s ‘not a good time.’ Like what is he doing, mapping out his alien junk for future generations through furious serial masturbation sessions?”

“Hell if I know.”

“But you’re basically him, don’t you know the masturbatory habits of the common Vantas?”

“That is exactly the kind of information that does not get shared with nosy, hornless aliens,” the ghost said. “What if I asked you about your alien self-stimulation habits?”

“Easy. I’m beating it right now.”

“What the fuck!?”

“Yeah, right now.” Dave lifted his hand and started to rub the pads of his finger and thumb together. “Just like this. Major hotspot on humans, gets us ready to pound like rabbits in seconds.”

“I know enough about your species to know that’s premium grade hornbeast leavings, Dave Human. Save your shitty pranks for someone who might actually believe them.”

“Worth a shot,” Dave said.

“So what did you do the last time you hung out with him?”

Dave answered with an elegant, “Huh?” If he had been talking to the living Vantas, that masturabtory joke might have derailed them for ten minutes or more. This Karkat could relentlessly stay on topic.

“You had said ‘hang out again,’ so that implies you’ve hung out before. What were you doing the last time?”

“Oh. Uh, I taught him how to mix.”

“Mix?”

“It’s a music thing. You take samples of instruments and songs and basically make a new song out of the pieces.”

“That sounds strangely appealing, as hobbies go.”

“Yeah. And Karkat said he thought it was cool, so why haven’t we picked a time to do more of it? And not in a public area where any old chump can interrupt us.”

Karkat raised an eyebrow. “It kind of sounds like you’re trying to flirt with him.”

Dave had a denial on the tip of his tongue, but a now-reflexive thought popped up. _This is not a problem_. He paused. He made a choice not to lie. But there were so many ways to say something that wasn’t a lie.

“I like him. And what I mean by that is, I have all kinds of positive sentiments pointed at him like a collection of little compasses all tuned to the polar north of assholery, which is Karkat. He’s…” Dave struggled to choose the right word. Thankfully, the ghostly Karkat didn’t interrupt as the silence grew.

“…Special,” he decided. “He’s special and I like him. No big deal.”

Karkat raised one eyebrow, like he understood that the feeling Dave was trying to describe aloud for the first time was a really big deal after all. “If you want my opinion, as a Karkat myself, I think he’d be very likely to stop his pathetic marathon masturbation session and come see you if you told him what you just told me.”

Dave had no idea what to say. This ‘saying what you really feel’ thing made his innards flutter. Was Karkat implying what Dave thought he was? Had he read deep enough between Dave’s lines to know what he was trying to say? Was this like, a clue from a doomed timeline that if Dave made a move, the response would be favorable?

He was going to ask something else, but a familiar voice belonging to a certain blind alien interrupted him: “ _Striiiiiiider_!”

After a very necessary exasperated sigh, Dave looked behind him. His bubble had started to mesh with a strange forest, full of pink-leafed Alternian trees mixed with some tropical jungle flora from Earth. Standing at the edge of the hybrid biome, waving her cane in the air for his attention, stood Terezi Pyrope.

“What?” Dave called back.

“We found something interesting! And almost all of us are asleep right now, so we’re going to check it out!”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Get your moody ass over here, cool kid, or I’m going to wake up, find you, and start drooling all over your face!”

Sufficiently creeped out by that threat, Dave turned to the ghost of Karkat. “Duty calls, I guess.”

Karkat nodded. “I see that. But hey, try and look on the bright side. You don’t have to be as lonely while waiting for your alive Karkat if you hang out with everyone else.”

That didn’t sound like much of a bright side. But, Dave gave the doomed Karkat a thumbs-up before crossing the topsy-turvy terrain and joining Terezi at the edge of the forest.

“What is it?” he asked her.

She grinned and giggled. “You’ll see!”

 

* * *

 

_When Aradia was young, she had dreamed of being this happy. The skies were spread wide open before her, full of more constellations than she could count. The riches of the planet surrounded her. They scaled peaks, crossed plains, hiked through forests, forded rivers, and saw creatures Aradia had never imagined. She had her lover beside her, a powerful survivalist in his own right, and together they knew no fear. Anything perilous that faced them, from the sun to the terrain, had a solution if they worked through the problem carefully. All of Beforus was their back lawnring and no one could tell them what to do._

_Her Huntsman looked happy, too. Or at least, he looked happier than he was. Aradia knew that he hadn’t dreamed of this exactly. Maybe travel and exploration, but he would have preferred to be able to walk, and she knew he missed his lusus. It lay unspoken between them that Aradia’s own vengeful rage against Prospera had killed the small winged bull. Aradia had seen the Huntsman put down suffering creatures and hoped that he held the same perspective on what had happened to his lusus: his misery was over._

_She hoped he could see that his own misery was over, too._

_They traveled through a temperate belt of the continent, with plenty of vegetation to eat and use for shelter, and wildlife for company and assistance. The hoofbeast—Oberion—had a personality that reminded Aradia of the blueblood who used to own him. They were lucky the Huntsman could commune with the beast directly, because Aradia was sure she would have lost patience with him. Even then, Aradia felt that the Huntsman had to mentally add ‘if you please’ and ‘thank you very much’ to every request he made of the animal. But, since the brownblood did respect his mount, Oberion would stand still, tow ropes, and even carry Aradia without fuss._

_Nights and weeks blurred into perigees. Aradia had counted them for a while, but lost track. This idyllic wanderer’s life suited her too well for her to care how long it had been since she was someone else. Even the first major problem they encountered did not register to Aradia as a true crisis._

_One night, she lifted herself up into the sky to survey the terrain, and realized they were faced with an unattractive choice: go north into colder weather, or head east across plains too large to cross before sunrise. She brought the news down to the Huntsman, who reasoned, “Well, being better-supplied is never a bad thing.”_

_“So we’ll find the nearest town… but we don’t have money.”_

_“We can try and find some odd jobs, chores, little things,” the Huntsman said. “Enough for what we need.”_

_They plotted a course toward the nearest hub of civilization, a little cluster of hives and other edifices surrounded by a wall to deter marauding animals from interfering with the community. They had one road leading toward the front gate and another leading away, so Aradia supposed the town must be something of a waystation for other travelers. A good sign, in her opinion, since it increased the odds the supplies they needed would be in stock._

_They found the gate open, with a sign next to it listing the hours of permitted entry and a sentry to monitor who came in and out. Aradia approached the troll and asked her for the best place to buy either cold clothes or sunrunning equipment._

_The troll looked from Aradia, to the Huntsman, and back. “Is it… just you two?”_

_“Yes,” Aradia said._

_“Where are you going, all alone?”_

_“We haven’t decided yet, but we should be prepared for the road, shouldn’t we?”_

_The sentry continued staring at them, but then pointed down the street. “There’s a common quadrangle at the center of town. Lots of shops.”_

_“Thank you,” Aradia replied politely, but she couldn’t ignore the distrustful feeling in her stomach. The Huntsman gave Aradia a warm, comforting smile as they continued along the street. His mount made him taller than every other troll, and they continued to gather strange stares as they approached the quad._

_“You’d think they’d never seen a troll, on a hoofbeast,” the Huntsman tried to joke, but Aradia couldn’t laugh._

_“We’ll need work before we can buy anything. Ideas about how to find any?”_

_“Go shop to shop, offer services. We’re pretty talented, when you think about it, so I’m sure someone will need us.”_

_The central quadrangle had a long side, a short side, and two sloping roads connecting the two. The interior had lush grass and trees and some footpaths, while small shops and restaurants lined the outer streets. Funny looks continued to follow them as Aradia and the Huntsman walked. Almost to escape them, Aradia quickly chose a small sustenance vendor and went inside to speak with the proprietor._

_“Excuse me.” Aradia waved to catch the other troll’s attention. He shared her blood color and had fat, stubby horns on top of his broad face._

_“Welcome! What can I do for you?” he asked. “We just got some fresh brushberries in—special price!”_

_“Actually, I’m here to work, not buy. I was wondering if you needed some temporary assistance. I am a psionic, trained in some basic medical care, and my matesprit outside is phenomenal at caring for animals. We want to earn some money so we can buy more supplies for our journey.”_

_The proprietor’s goodwill started to evaporate. “And where is your culler through all this? Why didn’t they give you what you would need?”_

_There it was, that distrustful feeling again, humming in the back of her head like an alarm. “We have no culler. It’s just us two, and we’ve been perfectly fine for a few perigees now.”_

_“What’s your matesprit’s blood color?”_

_She stiffened. “Why do you ask.”_

_“I want to know if he’s competent to care for you.”_

_“He is. And I can care for him. We don’t need anyone else to care for us, and we can make our own way if you just let us work.”_

_The proprietor started to shake his head. “No, I won’t throw my lot in with that. There’s no work for you here.”_

_“But why? The Huntsman and I are strong trolls!”_

_“I told you to leave!”_

_Aradia didn’t want to be in his presence any longer, so she left, throwing a rude gesture over her shoulder at him. The Huntsman saw her furious expression and offered a sympathetic look. “Starshine, what’s wrong?”_

_“He couldn’t help us. Let’s keep going.”_

_But the pattern repeated. Every troll they asked shied away once they learned Aradia and the Huntsman were culler-less. They tried every store on the quadrangle, even the one that sold the travel and survival equipment they needed, without a single offer of work. Managers and owners alike turned them away and refused to listen to their story beyond ‘we have no culler.’ Some pretended to hide it, simply insisting there was nothing to be done, while others became angry and fearful, shouting for the two to leave the premises and never come back._

_One phrase stood out: “Get out of here, you ruddy zealots!” Aradia had no idea what they meant. Only her blood was reddish, and even as she grew angrier with the town citizens, she felt positive she never spoke of their lifestyle in a zealous way. They wanted to be left alone, and wanted to earn the resources to make it possible. What was wrong with that?_

_After hours of begging, Aradia and the Huntsman found a patch of grass in the quadrangle and staked it as their own. Oberion grazed while the Huntsman undid the multitude of straps keeping his legs in place and Aradia helped ease him and saddle off of the beast, giving them both a rest._

_“What are we supposed to do now?” Aradia asked him._

_“We could contact the Benevole,” the Huntsman suggested. “She could vouch for us, signing off on our travels.”_

_“No, that’d be more suspicious. And the last thing I want is Trueshot to think we’re in actual trouble.”_

_“We are in trouble, kind of.”_

_“We’re just stuck. We’ll find a way through.”_

_“Great.” The Huntsman looked to Aradia. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”_

_Aradia frowned, scowling back at all the pedestrians who gave them dirty looks. Apparently their reputation was spreading. “I have no idea.”_

_She noticed someone coming toward them. Another burgundy—the town seemed to have no one cooler than yellow, or if it did, they were elsewhere—with a scowl on his hook-nosed face and a crunched up piece of paper in his hand. Aradia reflexively tensed, expecting some kind of altercation._

_“Hey, you filthy drifters!” He spat the words. “You left this piece of trash in my culler’s shop!”_

_“What?! That’s a lie—”_

_He threw the wadded paper at the Huntsman and stormed off as suddenly as he came. “Show some manners the next time you want charity, got it!?” he shouted over his shoulder. Aradia wanted to tackle him and show him what she thought of his ‘manners,’ but the Huntsman grabbed her hand and held her back._

_“Starshine, look at this.” He unfurled the paper to reveal an address, a small map, and a note:_ Just before sunrise, come here. We have nutrition, ablution, and a work offer.

_“He was pretending,” the Huntsman said. “He wants to help us, but if he said anything, his community would hate him, just like they hate us.”_

_“But what if it’s a trap?”_

_“Then we’ll fight our way out. Only small creatures live around here, but I can make them swarm. Then, with your powers, we have nothing else to fear.”_

_Aradia studied the note closer. She didn’t like this. After bending over backward to try and get these trolls to help, assistance suddenly fell into her lap?_

_“It’ll be nice to have an ablution with_ warm _water…” the Huntsman said, tempting her._

 _She relented. “We can check the surrounding area before we go inside. And if I feel_ anything _wrong, I will tear the hive apart and create an exit.”_

_“There’s my matesprit. You astound me, over and over.”_

_The Huntsman lay back on the grass, and Aradia scooted closer, nestling against him. When she looked up at the starry sky, she couldn’t see the ugly glares cast her way._


	25. Join the Herd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I can't keep living a lie anymore - I am completely obsessed with My Little Pony and can't keep pretending I want all my characters to be humanoid. I'm going to take a page from Hussie's book and show my love for horses freely!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April Fool's! :D 
> 
> This chapter in text form will update on 4/6. Get hype!


	26. The Time For Realizations

Sobriety still felt awful. After months pickling her liver in magically duplicated wine and spirits, Rose had been expecting the multitude of physical ailments: shakiness, sweating, headaches, and worst of all, even more nausea. In short, withdrawal. But then she would remember spinning with Kanaya in a golden ballroom, reaching out her hand, and receiving a second chance, and she could find the strength to grit her teeth and stay far away from the alchemiter. She knew exactly how easy it was to surrender. Staying sober would probably never be comfortable, but she had a very long list of people worth staying sober for. Like Kanaya, and John, and Jade, and Kanaya, and Dave, and Terezi, and that post-scratch teenage incarnation of her mother, and Kanaya.

_I have a girlfriend._

Her first girlfriend, actually, thinking about it. As the freaky occultist goth girl in the back of the class reading books thicker than the skulls of intolerant adolescents, the only romantic offers Rose had ever received were from practical jokers. Braindead popular kids would dare each other into talking to her, and she could recall a number of conversations along the lines of, ‘wanna go out with me? Psyche!’ Hilarious. Largely thanks to John, Rose knew a lot about _real_ humor, and the morons in her junior high school were not funny in the slightest. It wasn’t like Rose harbored feelings for any of them.

But this time was different. This time, Rose _gave a shit_ about the outcome. That simple change made Rose’s inexperience when it came to romantic relationships abundantly clear to her. Did she know what she was doing? Certainly not. What if Kanaya really only liked the aloof and intellectual persona Rose had crafted over Pesterchum and in her Sburb walkthrough? What if Rose fucked up? Whenever she questioned herself, the itch for a glass of merlot (or vodka, or rubbing alcohol) would intensify.

Then again, Kanaya had forgiven Rose for the consequences of her sloppy alcoholism. Rose had a feeling she’d forgive other transgressions, just as Rose knew she’d forgive a multitude of mistakes in return.

 _I have a_ girlfriend!

They had spent the few hours since that cathartic dream adhered to one another by the hip and elbow, but when Rose started to receive some cerulean-colored messages regarding a dream Vriska wanted her to help with, Rose figured she’d placate the Thief now to avoid petulant retaliation in the future. Once Rose navigated her way from the dreambubble back to meteor and caught up with Vriska in one of the corridors, she gave Rose almost no context and demanded she take a nap and meet Terezi in a _different_ bubble, because she had found something of incredible interest.

“How do you know this?” Rose had asked.

“Terezi and I found it together.”

“So how are you here, then?”

“Why does that matter? That doesn’t matter. She woke me up. That’s not important. I just need to bring her some assistance. Stop asking questions!”

Rose had to wonder about how exactly that had gone down,  though she doubted either Vriska or Terezi would tell her anytime soon. “Pardon my continued queries, but are you looking for the entire rest of our party, or simply relevant individuals?”

“I’m looking for pretty much anyone I can find. I already put Dave to sleep, and it’ll be Terezi’s job to find him. And I’m on the lookout for Kanaya and Karkat.”

“Right, I keep forgetting you can do that to people,” Rose said, fondly remembering the mayhem she once caused with an enchanted ball of yarn. “Can you give Kanaya a pass on this one? She’s in the middle of a sewing project and rendering her unconscious could cause her bodily harm.”

The lie went unquestioned, mostly because Vriska seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. “Fine, whatever. Just message me when you’ve found a reclining surface and I’ll get you in the bubble.”

So Rose did, and a moment after she sent the message, she fell asleep. In the dreambubble, she found herself standing at the base of a radio tower surrounded by pink and green trees. A few different landmarks rose up from the horizon: a spindly white Sburb-tower, a dark and spooky castle, and the worn stone face of a frog. The Light within her seemed to say that was the way to go, so Rose listened, floating above the canopy and soaring toward the ruins. The sky overhead changed as she flew, transitioning from fiery orange to deep, nighttime navy.

When she touched down at the top of the temple, she took notice of someone else standing near the frog’s feet—someone with short horns, a gray sweater, and a grouchy expression.

“Nice of you to join us, Karkat,” Rose greeted him.

He just shoved his hands in his pockets. “What ‘us?’ You’re the only one here.”

“I’ve been led to believe that others should be joining us shortly. There’s something important to discover here.”

“Can I just pass? You don’t need me for any of this shit. Even if we’re re-living a memory or something, this obviously isn’t Alternia so there’s no trolls involved at all.”

“That’s accurate. Based on the surrounding lagoon, I would suppose this memory actually belongs to Jade.”

“Awesome. Still validates my fucking point that you don’t need me. Can you just wake me up and let me get on with my life? Why am I even asleep in the first place?”

“Vriska apparently made the executive decision that more of our number needed to be asleep right now without consulting who was actually available to take mission-critical naps,” Rose explained. “And anyway, I had no idea that conscious time on the meteor was of such monumental importance to you. Is there some project occupying your time?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. See, Vriska got lucky—which I guess she always does—that it’s okay for me to be asleep right now. But I want to be sure I’m awake at the right time, so the best thing to do would just be to stay awake in the first place—”

Karkat’s argument was interrupted by more people flying toward them: this time Dave, with Terezi nearby using her rocket wings. She skidded to a landing before Dave touched down after her.

“You are aware that Dave probably could have assisted with your flight?” Rose spoke up.

“The prosecution recognizes Miss Lavendaloupe’s astute observation, but counters that every opportunity to fly with rocket-powered dragon wings _must_ be utilized to its fullest.”

Rose shrugged, “The defense has no further questions.” But, she did remember Terezi flying to a certain memory of a boat while holding Vriska’s hand, when surely she had still had her rocket wings in her sylladex. Sobriety still had its pains, but her connection to the Light did make Rose feel like the universe’s greatest Nancy Drew, always remembering crucial details while able to deduce the true causes and purposes of situations and artifacts alike.

Dave actually had yet to acknowledge Rose was even there. He kind of sidled his way toward Karkat with palpable forced nonchalance. “Hey. Long time no see.”

Karkat removed his hands from his pockets to contritely fold them across his chest. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Hey, once we wake up, can we… talk?”

“About what?”

“Y’know, just. Anything. See where the conversation takes us. And just so you know, I’m not asking to hang out with you because I’m scraping the bottom of the bulbous wooden container. It’s because sometimes, you’re _almost_ cool.”

The trollish phrasing actually made Karkat smile. “Strider, you _are_ the bottom of the bulbous wooden container.”

“Yeah, well, your _face_ is the bottom of a bulbous wooden container. Be all like, that container’s bulbous posterior. Like a barrel-ass. Or an ass-el.”

Karkat snorted, and Terezi interrupted their conversation by gagging loudly. “Okay, bullshitting time from the double-cherry peanut gallery is over! I wanna take a crack at finding out where this memory leads us.”

Dave and Karkat looked away from each other, and Rose realized, _they were flirting_. And then she remembered, _I have a girlfriend. That’s something that happened_. Racing of the heart subsequently ensued while Terezi gave them something that counted as a mission briefing.

“Okay! So, Vriska and I found these frog temple ruins where the code of Sgruburb is supposed to come from. Since the surrounding area is from Earth, it somehow has to be Jade’s, but the terrain says that it can’t be hers. And we found a note inside…”

Terezi led the way into the temple with three redbloods in her wake. Rose recognized a few mysterious components: a very old transportalizer with a spirograph dial fixed to a setting labeled ‘B1,’ a deep hole in the center of the room, and a giant purple lotus bud over to one side. Though she didn’t know what to make of these components yet, she had a feeling that if any of them held relevance, she’d know what to make of them soon.

“Here we go!” Terezi pointed her cane at the transportalizer, a little to the left of a white paper stuck onto the console. “Vriska and I read that, but didn’t know what to make of it. Any human wanna take a swing at this riddle?”

Dave didn’t seem enthusiastic about going forward, so thankfully Rose was. She picked the note up, realizing first that it was written in a lime green ink, with no capitalization and all the i’s and j’s dotted with circles.

_jake - take care of this place!!!! someone you know very well is waiting to hear from you. no matter what, i’m so proud of you. never lose your sense of adventure!!!!!!!! - grandma_

The pieces slotted into place. “These are Jade’s ruins after all, sort of.” Rose said aloud. “More specifically, they’re the ruins that will jumpstart our post-scratch session. Jade has at least visited this place, but if we were to assign them an ‘owner,’ it would be someone by the name of Jake.”

“And why do we care about Jake?” Karkat asked.

“I think he’s young father granddad Harleybert.” Rose smiled. “Or, one of our future allies.”

Dave slow-clapped for her, earning a glare from Rose and some furious cane-tapping as Terezi imitated a gavel pounding. “Hey, shut up during Rose’s testimony!” she scolded Dave. “Now, if this is a memory of the post-scratch timeline, then whose is it?”

“Since only memories belonging to the game’s players and their ancestors end up in the bubble, it’s Jade or Jake’s.”

“Any way of determining which?”

Rose looked around. Nothing else in the temple gave an indication of time, but she hadn’t fully investigated that flower bud yet. She asked, “Someone with eyesight, go and see if there’s a large tower outside,” while she approached the lotus to investigate. The thing looked about the size of a mattress, but chopped square to be a little shorter. And on the base, as expected, Rose found a countdown clock.

“There are about ten years on this timer,” she reported. “So this means the memory belongs to Jade.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” Karkat asked her.

“Most all events of great importance transpire at an increasing rate as the players prepare to enter game,” Rose said. “So assuming they enter the game at age thirteen-slash-six, like we did, that means Jake would be about three years old right now. The odds of memories from his toddlerhood being of any significance to our impending battle is astronomically slim.”

“We got a tower, pretty much identical to Jade’s old house, if that changes anything,” Dave answered Rose’s earlier question.

“It doesn’t, but thank you.”

Terezi rubbed her hands together. “Nice work, fellow Seer! Now it’s time to ask, who wants to be Jade?”

“We can’t just ‘be Jade,’ that’s impossible,” Dave said.

“Were you paying attention to any of the other cool shit we’ve done in bubbles? You can be anyone you want to make a memory play out.”

“That was only like, alternate copies of yourself or your ancestor or something.”

“We’ll never know until we try! Come on, boulder-kevlar-guillotine for it.”

Rose turned away from the hand game and looked at the console again. Dave had a point that the ideal candidate to ‘be Jade’ would be herself. _Jade as a grandma… An old woman, wise to the world, living on a distant island in the vicinity of some ruins. She had a sense of adventure and has taken to mentoring, if not raising, one of the young heroes. She leaves a cryptic note for him, pinned to this equipment, so she must know its true purpose… And she had to write a note to her grandson now, before… before..._

Her mind cycled through the potential ends to that sentence when, like a safecracker finding the last number of a combination, the revelation hit her. _Before she was found._

“Woah,” Dave said behind her. “I guess that works too.”

A woman stood at the console now, dressed in white with long, silvery hair reaching practically to her calves. She had a hunch in her back and tremors in her hands, but Rose recognized round glasses and some buck teeth lightly pinching her lower lip. The woman put the finishing touches on the note and then taped it onto the console, right where Rose found it.

“We’ll just let Jade be herself,” Rose said, rather pleased with her ability to manifest a memory phantom through intuition and imagination alone. Dave and Karkat followed the elderly Jade as she hobbled her way toward the temple’s outer door, while Terezi stayed more-or-less facing Rose, a pointy smile spread across her mouth.

“What?” Rose asked her.

“Nothing,” Terezi replied, sounding just as satisfied as Rose was about her ability to more-or-less commune with the memory. “We shouldn’t let the boys leave us behind.”

Jade’s phantom exited the temple, so Rose followed. The old woman took a few seconds to kneel down, huffing and puffing as she dropped one knee, then the other, and then pulled a very dark and threatening rifle from her strife specibus. Curiously, though most of the gun was black, the scope had a series of almost sickening lights flashing on its side. She folded down part of a tripod to help balance the massive gun as she aimed it at the sky. Lowering her eye to the scope, she looked through, making miniscule adjustments to her aim before she fired a single shot into the darkness.

After the gunshot came silence. She adjusted her aim and fired again. She swore, fired one more time, and then lifted the rifle off its tripod to brace against her shoulder as she aimed… took a deep breath… and fired again.

 _What is she shooting at?_ She tried to cycle through more options, but nothing clicked together to her satisfaction. She stepped closer to the memory of Jade to try and trace her own sights, but Rose lost the ghostly game of I Spy to Karkat. He pointed out into the distance and announced, “There—there’s light! Every time she fires! There!”

Rose trained her eyes on where Karkat was looking. Another bang, and a flash of light followed, but was it red or blue? Actually, when Jade fired, Rose saw the red-blue sparks, but in the wake of those, more light stood out from the foliage. Green? Yellow? Purple? The lights approached and started to outline the silhouette of a woman with a very… mature body.

A mature body and tall, trollish horns.

Grandma Jade cursed under her breath again and scuttled back from the ledge. No more rifle fire against her enemy. She stowed the gun and clambered to her feet, faster now, and ran back into the temple, approaching the deep hole in the center of the room. Something groaned, and a large circular platform rose up.

A chilling voice echoed from outside, overly informal and full of puns. “Oi, little gill! You fink you can just pinch my shit whenebber you want?!”

Rose cast a glance at the two trolls in their party. Terezi’s grin vanished as she stood motionless, not even breathing, like she was trying to hide from a predator that would see her if she moved. Karkat seemed unable to stop himself from whimpering, even though he put his hands over his mouth to try and stop them. Pinkish tears gathered at the corner of his eyes as he shivered. Dave looked torn between two options: go to Karkat, or find out more about the thing that scared him so badly.

“It’s okay,” Rose said aloud, though she wasn’t sure exactly how to reassure two individuals experiencing a severe biological or socially conditioned reaction against the overlord of their entire species. “She’s not really here! And we’re all asleep, even if she does try to harm us, we’ll just wake up!”

“What if she’s another ghost in a memory and she—she—!?” Karkat hissed to her in a panic.

“Again, _we can wake up!_ It won’t be pleasant to be killed, but it won’t stick!”

The argument might have continued, but a golden trident speared the air between them. Everyone leapt back, Rose included, as it sailed into the temple. She tried to follow its arc, but she saw it lodged in the computer equipment, shattering the device’s screen, while Jade now crouched on the slowly-lowering platform, safe for now.

“Dave!” Rose called, and she trusted her ecto-brother to figure out what she meant through example. Rose took hold of Terezi’s hand and pulled her into the temple, leaping down to join Jade on the descending elevator. The blind troll stumbled behind her, but as soon as they lost sight of the Condesce, she tore her hand away from Rose and started breathing again.

“How is she here…” Terezi whispered, almost to herself. “What is she doing here?!”

“That’s really the least important question of this memory,” Rose answered, as Dave and a still-sniffling Karkat jumped down to join the girls in their descent. “Think about it, any number of other parties would ask the same question of us, regarding our psionic-shoved meteor journey through infinite void following a star chart with no stars to arrive at a new session! We’ll say the answer is ‘shenanigans’ and then focus on _why_ she’s here.”

“Easy—she’s here to conquer humanity and slaughter every sentient creature that looks at her funny!” Karkat’s voice still shook. “That’s what she did with every single alien planet ever! She’s gonna massacre everyone and make this entire planet her latest plaything, and you might as well ask why a fish is in the water, _because this is what she was MADE TO DO_!”

“Listen, Karkat, she’s a memory. She can’t hurt you,” Dave reassured his like-blooded alien friend.

Well, even though Rose had said _exactly_ the same thing a few minutes ago, she didn’t mind Dave running with her logic. Maybe Karkat would actually listen to him. So, she took to studying the final occupant of the platform: Grandma Jade, her rifle in her hands again, checking the clip for ammunition and glancing up the hole. Rose followed her gaze, and saw the double trident fly backward, like a video clip re-winding.

 _Telekinesis_ , her mind supplied. “Is the Condesce a psionic?”

Terezi kept her head down, addressing the descending ground. “She can’t be. That’s part of the trade-off. Lowbloods have psionic gifts but are more psychically vulnerable than highbloods. And Feferi never had psionic powers.”

“Curious.” Rose left it at that. The platform arrived at the bottom, and Jade sprinted forward, out of the temple, across a trail of lily pads, and into the night. She was moving much faster than she had at the top of the temple, which reminded Rose of the spirited ‘lass scamper’ she had seen Jade exhibit a few times in her crystal ball. The similarity gave Rose a pang of nostalgia, even as Jade ran from the unexplained presence of a genocidal alien queen.

The environment did not carry any familiarity. A thick jungle replaced the grassy hills this island used to hold, but Jade navigated it flawlessly. Rose lifted her feet off the ground, and now unhampered by foliage or terrain, caught up to Jade. The wrinkles on her face looked grave and determined, but she couldn’t see any trace of fear in her eyes.

_She knows the outcome._

Another streak of gold speared through the air, plunging into the ground right before Jade. She dug in her heels to stop, turning to look at the Condesce, now floating in mid-air like a god tier and wreathed in pale light. She raised an arm and the trident flew back into her hand once again.

Rose turned to Terezi, who still seemed to be the most composed of her companions. “I ask again, is she a psionic?”

Terezi just shook her head, but Rose read between the lines and understood Terezi was more bemused than contradictory. The Condesce _shouldn’t_ be a psionic, but she was. Somehow. The only answer Rose could imagine for now was ‘shenanigans,’ especially since her next words brought up a new mystery.

“Ain’t you gonna give your momma a hug, little gill~?” the Condesce taunted.

Jade raised her rifle and took aim. “Hug this!” And she fired, but the bullets continued to disappear into red-blue flashes of light. The Condesce showed her teeth—to laugh or snarl?—and touched back down to the ground. Jade continued shuffling backward, trying to continue her abscond but unwilling to turn her back on the Condesce.

Rose looked around to take a quick stock of her companions. Terezi remained shocked and sought to back up slowly, maneuvering herself toward the Condesce’s back. She almost certainly knew and believed Rose that she was factually safe from the Condesce, but couldn’t stop herself from trying to find the least vulnerable position. Karkat had a similar instinct, but his panic overrode reason and just left him stumbling away, feet catching on almost every available protruding root. Dave had the most proactive response, with Caledfwlch grasped before him, but even his hands shook.

More thorough psychoanalysis of her teammates would have to wait. The Condesce took steps forward, clearing far more ground than Jade did, and swung her trident again. Jade had to use her rifle almost like a staff to block it, and the next blow, and the next.

And then Karkat disappeared. Dave jumped and seemed to look around for the cause of the troll’s death, so Rose felt compelled to explain: “He just woke up—he expected it before we started. He’s fine.”

“But Jade isn’t,” Terezi added. And she was right. If Jade’s bullets couldn’t harm the Condesce, her elderly body wouldn’t be able to do much else. Strikes continued, the trident spinning in the Condesce’s hands like an extension of her own body, until she seemed to lose patience. She flung the trident into a nearby tree and lifted her arm. The motion lifted Jade off of the ground too, perfectly aimed for the Condesce to kick Jade in the stomach and drop her to the ground again.

“So glubbin’ ungrateful,” the Condesce said. “At least I can fin-ally stick a fork in your disgusting alien torso.”

Jade coughed and pushed her body up off the floor. “You… won’t win…”

The Condesce laughed. “CrockerCorp is mine. Derse is mine. Jane is mine. The timeline is mine. And I have more power than any one troll has ever possessed.” She reached down and picked Jade off the ground once again, this time with her own arm. Jade looked light as a scarecrow in her grip. “Of course I’m gonna win.”

The old woman managed one last laugh. “How can you win… if you’re still his slave?” She took hold of the Condesce’s wrist, futilely fighting. “Servitude looks good on you, _Mother_.”

A flash of anger crossed the Condesce’s face. The trident again flew into her hand, and this time, she speared it through Jade’s chest. She didn’t scream or cry, just choked, and when the fork left her body, she gasped.

“Fuck, again?!” Dave’s words interrupted the scene of elderly Jade’s murder. “If I have to watch one more grownup friend eat shit in a stupid one-sided fight, I fucking swear to gog and jegus and all his angles… Shoo! _Shoo_!”

He stepped into the middle of the fight and waved his sword at the Condesce. She dissolved like smoke before a slight breeze, so Dave gave Jade’s bleeding body the same treatment. Rose wanted to chastise him for stopping this highly informative memory, but couldn’t make herself say it. She decided to defer to to Terezi’s judgment on whether Dave had done the right thing. So long as the Seer of Mind approved of Dave’s actions, Rose would too.

“Terezi, you probably already knew this, but your Empress is the worst and your whole Alternian government can suck a bag of dicks,” Dave announced.

“You’re preaching to the enslaved devotees, Strider,” Terezi replied, her wit back online but her words still lacking force. “I think we all kind of forgot for a second there how terrifying the Condesce is. Feferi was always a fountain of laughter and jubilation, even as an heiress.”

“How does one become the Empress of all trolls?” Rose asked.

“Be hatched a fuschiablood, first. Then survive to adulthood, and then kill your predecessor. One would only succeed every few thousand sweeps. At least, that’s how it went until our planet got destroyed.”

“But the Condesce survived that. Not only did she survive, but she made her way to the new session, where she reportedly amassed great power.”

“Like psionic abilities,” Terezi said.

“And a baking company,” Dave added, a little sarcastically. “That dastardly witch.”

“And some very curious relationships. She referred to herself as a mother, and Jade confirmed that right before her death, as well as a mysterious person who is presumed to be the Condesce’s enslaver.”

“Someone _enslaved_ a fish alien with that much raw power?” Dave said.

“One guess as to who.”

“Equius.”

“All in favor of revoking Dave’s guessing privileges?” Terezi said.

“Aye,” Rose answered.

“Fuck you guys.”

“I think the correct answer was Lord English, right, Miss Tangerine?”

“Yes, it was.”

“I’ll pre-emptively assign myself some points,” Terezi brought her smile back, the terror starting to fade. “Now, come on. We should wake up so we can fill Karkat, Kanaya, and Vriska in on all of this. No need to waste our breath talking about it to talk all over again.”

“But of course. I must be quite careful to allow all members of our crew the opportunity to exercise their gift of gab.” Rose clapped some imaginary dust off of her hands. “I trust you both can find your way clear?”

“Hang on, what are you—”

Rose missed the end of Dave’s sentence as she willed herself awake, back to a sofa in on the meteor with a messaging device on her chest. She took a deep breath and tried to process both what she had discovered and what she could infer. There was no doubt about it; something horrible would be waiting for them all in the new session.

_…I have a girlfriend._

She pressed her hands over her eyes and cheeks and started to laugh at herself a little. That fact would probably continue to bubble forth at even less appropriate moments. She knew of far worse intrusive thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason this is late is because I couldn't come up with a good rock-paper-scissors joke in time. Shoutout to MostlyHarmless for listening to the failed options XP


	27. Ruddy/Rough

_Tavros knew the Lodestar was right to stay suspicious. They would likely never encounter anyone as despicable as Prospera, but keeping their guard up was a good instinct. The note told them to arrive at that location just before sunrise. He and the Lodestar knew that would leave them nowhere to run if anyone intended to betray them. They saddled up Oberion and scouted the perimeter of the address a few hours early to check for escape routes. The Lodestar recognized it as a distribution compound: a place where objects from huge factories came in huge boxes, to be put into smaller boxes, and sent to smaller hives and stores. One of the entrances had a chunk of its wall missing, prepared for those huge boxes. Tavros on hoofbeastback could easily enter._

_After a few strolls past the compound, Tavros and the Lodestar left it alone. If they just loitered outside, it would arouse suspicion, so they moved back to the quadrangle where at least they had space and greenery around them. Tavros passed his time by brushing Oberion’s mane. The repetitive action pleased his mount and gave him something to do with his hands while he waited. Something in him wanted to believe this was the answer they needed. This was the way to continue forward and preserve their freedom. But something else made him nervous: what would be the price of that freedom? What if these people asked for something Tavros and the Lodestar couldn’t give?_

_The edge of the sky started to brighten, so they returned to the distribution compound to see what would happen. After a few minutes, a troll poked their head around the edge of the wall portal, spotted them, and hastily waved them inside. The Lodestar sprinted in while Tavros urged Oberion forward at a more leisurely walk. His horseshoes would only attract more attention running._

_Once inside, the troll pressed a button on the wall and a huge metal grate started to descend behind them, closing the wall. Oberion fidgeted, nervous about the strange-smelling enclosure, and Tavros did his best to calm the hoofbeast by patting his neck._

_“Thank the stars you came,” the troll told them. He was the same troll who had angrily thrown the note at Tavros and the Lodestar. The last time they met, Tavros hadn’t gotten a good look at him. He had dark red eyes, curved horns arching backward, and a pronounced nose with a bend at the tip._

_“What is this? Who are you?” the Lodestar demanded immediately._

_“They call me Hooknose,” the troll answered. Tavros thought the name was unimaginative, but kept it to himself. “I’m going to introduce you to my friends in a second.”_

_“Why are we here?”_

_“You’re traveling, yeah?” Hooknose said. “We want to go with you. We’ll buy you what you need, and in exchange, you get us there.”_

_“Where is ‘there?’”_

_“We were hoping you could tell us. Come on.”_

_Hooknose moved into the compound—a cavernous space with nondescript boxes piled high around the edges—toward a door at the other side of the building. “Your hoofbeast should be safe in here for a day, provided he doesn’t make leavings.”_

_“He’ll be good,” Tavros promised._

_“Okay. Dismount whenever you like, and—”_

_“That’s actually not possible.”_

_Hooknose stopped. “What?”_

_“Dismounting is a bad idea. I’m not just riding a hoofbeast, because hoofbeasts are cool, or something. I can’t walk on my own. So we walk together.”_

_The other troll looked confused, but then smiled. “I knew you were ruddy,” he said. “That’s fine, then. I’ll bring them out to meet you.”_

_The Lodestar looked to Tavros while Hooknose knocked on the door and told those inside to come out. She had explained how back in the town that word, ‘ruddy,’ had kept being applied to herself and Tavros. It would make sense for her, a burgundy, but brown blood couldn’t be confused for her rich maroon. There had to be another meaning._

_In a moment, the door opened and two women joined them, another burgundy with skinny, twisty horns and a yellowblood with bends at the ends of hers. Hooknose pointed and introduced the burgundy as the Collator and the yellow as the Federate. The Lodestar took the lead and gave their names, but volunteered nothing else._

_“So… you’re going somewhere?” Tavros prompted._

_The Collator nodded. “You can take us to a pickup point, right?”_

_“A what point?”_

_“You’re ruddy, right?” the Collator wrung her hands together. “That means you know where we should be, right? You’re going to meet up with the other ruddies, right?”_

_“Ruddy this, ruddy that!” The Lodestar lost her patience quick. Tavros couldn’t blame her, since all these mysteries threatened their freedom and safety. “What does ruddy mean?!”_

_The trolls looked at them in horror, like they had just realized they had made a grave mistake. Tavros jumped in to try and placate them. “We’re not saying we can’t help you, or that we won’t. We’re just not who you think we are. And once you tell us, what you need, we’ll see what we can do.”_

_The Federate cleared her throat. “That’s understandable. Does this mean you have not read the decalogue?”_

_“No. What’s that?”_

_“The… Chimeric’s thesis? He distributed it to all of Beforus via computer worm.”_

_“It’s been perigees since we touched anything, resembling a computer,” Tavros said._

_“You at least know who the Chimeric is, right?” the nervous Collator said._

_The Lodestar nodded. “Yes. Both of our former cullers had collaborated to help the Chimeric and the Mirthful go on the run.”_

_This news astounded the three. “You’ve_ met _the Chimeric before?” Hooknose repeated._

_“Briefly, before he vanished. It was just after the scandal broke, a half-sweep ago or so.”_

_“Oh, he’s not ‘vanished’ anymore. No one knows where he is for sure, but he’s taken pains to spit in the Compasse’s face. He’s raided culling institutes and communication hubs and even killed a Guardian. Now he’s recruiting across the world, asking trolls to live in freedom with him. We three, we want to go, but we can’t leave without authorization. So we_ won’t _leave without authorization. We’ll leave with you.”_

_“So where are you going? To meet up with the Chimeric?”_

_“That’s the plan. No one knows for sure where he’s headed next, but if we can go to a big, coastal city, we’ll be able to blend in until we hear the call.”_

_“We had thought you would know for sure, right? You’re already traveling with no culler, and you won’t say where you’re going, right? So we thought you were ruddy, right?”_

_“What does being ‘ruddy’ have to do with this?” the Lodestar asked._

_“A slur against the Chimeric and his followers,” the Federate explained. “Those in power are trying to blame the Chimeric’s defection on his blood mutation, and disparaging those who join him as similarly malformed. Their blood is ‘ruddier’ than originally thought, nonsense like that. Since speaking positively about the rebellion and the decalogue in public is treason, the term has been more-or-less embraced by those who want to discuss its ideas. We can insult the ruddy extremists and read between the lines to find who is actually sympathetic.”_

_“Like the three of us.” Hooknose gestured to the small group._

_“You should join us, right?” The Collator sounded excited this time. “They live like you, right?”_

_Tavros looked to the Lodestar, and instantly he could tell they were on the same page. “Thanks, but no thanks,” Tavros said. “As cool as it sounds, that they’re resisting the social order, we don’t have a problem, with culling itself. So long as no one culls_ us _, we don’t care what people do.”_

_The Collator looked crestfallen, and the Federate suspicious, but Hooknose stayed on task. “So, by that logic, you also don’t care if we join up with the rebellion?”_

_“…I guess not?”_

_“Then you’re right. We can still help each other. We’ll just follow along with where you want to go, and as soon as we’re near someplace urban, we’ll peel off and you’ll never hear from us again. And we’ll get you the supplies you need, which you can keep after.”_

_“How are you going to pay for it?” the Lodestar asked. “When it was just the two of us, the cost would have been reasonable, but cold and sun gear for five trolls…”_

_“The source of the money doesn’t matter,” Hooknose insisted._

_“It’s our life savings,” the Federate stated flatly._

_This shocked the Lodestar. “What? No, there’s no way, we can’t accept that!”_

_“Why not?”_

_“We can’t—can’t take everything you have, just to send you to some rebels! That’s not right! You’ll be left with nothing on the other side—”_

_“This is our choice,” the Federate answered. “We’ve read his words and we know what his rebellion will mean. We want to be part of it.”_

_“Right! Right?” the Collator agreed, looking between her companions._

_“...Right. We’re clear on this,” the Federate awkwardly said._

_“Yes, right?”_

_Hooknose rolled his eyes, but looked to Tavros and the Lodestar. “Whether or not you agree with what we want to do, I don’t see anyone else lining up to help you get the money you need,” he reminded them._

_“Can we talk about this, for a minute?” Tavros asked. The trio nodded, so he and the Lodestar moved to the other side of the compound. She lifted herself up onto a box high enough to be at eye-level with Tavros._

_“They don’t know what they’re asking for,” she started._

_“We haven’t read this decalogue, so maybe they do.”_

_“No, I’m positive. They’re running into danger. Even if the Chimeric is building a society as safe as the Compasse’s, no way will she allow another system to exist. She’s going to do everything she can to end this rebellion, and trolls are going to get hurt.”_

_“I mean, I agree with you on that part, pretty much entirely,” Tavros said. “But I don’t think they’re going to be safer, if they stay here. If anyone finds out they agree, with the Chimeric, they could get imprisoned, or run out of town. You can feel it too, that they’ll do that to us, if we stay much longer. That’s why they have to leave, now, with us.”_

_“That doesn’t stop the rebellion from being dangerous.”_

_Tavros gave the Lodestar a small frown. “I’m going to say something, and you’re not going to like it, so I want to apologize in advance for saying it.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“You sound like that Guardian. Trueshot. He didn’t believe in us, just like you don’t believe in them.”_

_The Lodestar scowled, and opened her mouth to refute that, but she couldn’t. He knew she couldn’t. Not letting these trolls go where they wished because of ‘danger’ was exactly the logic Guardians, cullers, and everyone the two of them hoped to escape used._

_“…Fine. I’m not happy about this, but you’re right. We’ll get them where they need to go and then never need to go through any of this ruddy nonsense ever again.”_

_Tavros leaned forward to give the Lodestar a thankful kiss, which she accepted with no more discussion. Then he turned and Oberion trotted him back to the trolls anxiously waiting for their decision._

_“We’ll do it,” Tavros answered. The look of hope and relief that spread on their faces made Tavros feel like he had found a third option in this brewing war._

 

* * *

 

Karkat’s cheek stung like someone had slapped him. He flailed his arms against the attacker—his blood pusher still hammering, _Condesce, Condesce, she’s gonna cull you, you’re about to die_ —but they were stronger than him, wrapping his wrists in their hands and _shaking_ —

“Little bro? Little bro!”

The Mirthful? No, Gamzee— _hi_ s Gamzee! Karkat tried to stop his thrashing, but the hands still held him firm. He opened his eyes and realized it was more than hands holding him down. Gamzee was sitting on Karkat, his wiry body heavier than Karkat expected. “Ow—ow, Gamzee, quit it!”

Gamzee stopped moving, but he kept Karkat restrained. “You’re here?” Gamzee asked.

“Wha—ufh—of course I’m here! I didn’t go anywhere!”

“You were sleeping.”

“So were you! And it wasn’t my choice to sleep, Vriska pulled some bullshit on my pan with hers.”

The other troll turned his eyes down, a tense and painful grimace on his mouth. “Just… when you’re not there…”

 _Fuck_. Karkat should have expected this to happen the minute he realized he was asleep. Gamzee had confided in Karkat that his dreambubble journeys usually brought him scenes of his deepest fears, and he felt better waking up to find Karkat there for him. But, pretty quickly in Karkat’s opinion, Gamzee had developed a dependency on Karkat’s presence when waking, and would flip out if he found himself alone.

“I’m sorry.” Karkat strained against Gamzee’s hands. “Here, let me up. Please.”

Gamzee released Karkat’s wrists, and Karkat lifted his arms so he could reach for Gamzee’s cheeks. The waxy texture of his greasepaint felt familiar to Karkat now. Almost every sweater he owned had streaks of the stuff smeared into it. He whispered little shushes to him until Gamzee’s eyes closed.

“I mean it. I’m sorry. I’m doing my best to take care of you, I promise.”

Covering one of Karkat’s hands with his own, Gamzee leaned toward it. “I just… I feel normal around you,” he confided. “I need you, little bro. Whenever you’re not here, I can feel the bad… whispering to me…”

Karkat reached higher, wrapping his arms around Gamzee’s shoulders and pulling down. It’d be up to Gamzee if he wanted to lie down with Karkat in their vent-pile, but his moirail—at least, de facto moirail—could often be enticed to cuddle. His judgment proved right, and Gamzee leaned down to bury his face in Karkat’s neck while Karkat patted his back.

 _Off of the planar frying surface and into the culinary pyre._ Waking up from a dream about the Condesce at her murderous best and finding himself pinned beneath a highblood who still had one foot in the crazy swamp did not give Karkat a chance to breathe. Even the comfort he tried to offer Gamzee came with shaking hands and breath. She had looked so real, and she had been even stronger than he had imagined—well, fantasized about. God, all of that was a hoot. Those long-dashed dreams that he’d grow up to be a threshecutioner, so talented and ruthless that her Condescension would intervene and stop the culling order. What did that say about his dreams if he couldn’t even stand tall in front of a _memory_ of the Condesce?

Oh, and also the fact that the Condesce would be in the new session, somehow. There was that.

Gamzee whispered in his ear, his breath tickling the little hairs. “Your pump biscuit is doing hammertime, little bro.”

“Sorry,” Karkat said. “I had a bad dream.”

“Motherfuck, that’s some bullshit to get on up in your pan.” Gamzee pulled back and finally shifted his weight off of Karkat, wrapping his hands around his torso instead. “Let me see what I can motherfucking do about that…”

Karkat sighed. “About that… I kinda think I’d like—or, prefer—to face you, during…”

But it was not enough. Gamzee big-spooned himself behind Karkat, with his hand already smoothing Karkat’s fringe away from his forehead. “I get that, my little bro, but I still get my notice on to the way you flinch at these scars of mine. And don’t you trust me to get your pacifications on?”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to get in the mood for this. “You’re right. Sorry, I just can’t…”

“You gotta. If you keep flinching every time you see my scars, makes me get my wonder on to whether or not you’re really bringing the righteous forgiveness to me.”

“I am—I mean, I’m _trying_ —” Even as Gamzee’s cool hands stroked his face, skillfully and serenely pale, Karkat couldn’t bring himself into his calm. “Listen, I’m… I’m not actually feeling up to this right now. I should stretch my legs. Maybe let the others know I’m okay.”  

“If they wanted to know, they’d message. C’mon, little bro, what’s wrong with motherfucking chilling?”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with it, it’s just not what I need! I think I need to move around, and Dave said he wanted to talk—”

“And what does a blasphemous liar want with you?” Gamzee’s voice took on a growl.

“He just said he wants to hang out!”

“I’ve seen what that Strider motherfucker is really all about. He’s looking for a new sucker to destroy. Only way he feels like he’s motherfucking worth anything.”

“Gamzee, you’re exaggerating—”

“If he hadn’t sent me those heretic pretenders, I might’ve been able to keep the terrors at bay!” Gamzee pressed his face harder against the back of Karkat’s neck. “And I couldn’t ever motherfucking forgive myself if I let that _monster_ fuck with my little bro too!”

“I’m telling you, he’s not that bad!”

“And I’m telling you, I can’t let my palebro stagger into the hands of the worst motherfucking liar this side of Paradox Space! Just remember that John motherfucker. He and Dave stayed friends cuz he was a few bubbles short of a Faygo. So when Dave doesn’t have a half-panned chump around to feel all motherfucking superior to, he’s gotta find a new one, and he picked you.”

Karkat squeezed his eyes tighter shut, but what he really wanted to do was block his ears. “He… he _just_ told me he’s not scraping the bottom of the container.”

“I gotta get my advise on to you, against believing the motherfucker who says the opposite of what he means and dodges blame by calling it motherfucking ironic.” Gamzee just cuddled closer, arms wrapped secure around Karkat. “Come on, my little bro. I wanna help you get settled after all that motherfucking shit you dreamed up. You wanna jam it out?”

He really didn’t want to. He wanted to leave, walk, find Dave, or even find Rose, or Kanaya, or Terezi, or the Mayor, or even another dreambubble full of dead Nepetas and Solluxes and humans and dancestors. But with Gamzee’s arms this tight around him, he couldn’t extract himself. He’d have to get more aggressive to make Gamzee let go of him, and he knew that would hurt Gamzee more than anything. How far would he regress if Karkat stood against him? He needed someone to believe him, forgive him, and Karkat was the only one up to the fucking task. He said he felt better when Karkat was here. He couldn’t leave him.

“I just… want to ask something first,” Karkat said, remembering the same words written in crimson ink. “How do I know you’re a good person?”

Gamzee chuckled a little. “I think you can feel on that answer, can’t you? Would you be here trying so motherfucking hard to help me if I wasn’t?”

Karkat wanted to snap at him, ‘don’t answer my question with a question,’ but he caught himself. Gamzee trusted Karkat’s judgement of character. And the only one around here who even saw someone worth forgiving, worth healing, was Karkat. Right back where he started.

 _Maybe he’s not a good person yet… but if I can stick this out, he’ll_ become _one._ Karkat finally let his muscles relax, resigned to staying in the vents. “I want to message Dave… let him know I’m not coming.”

“Good plan, little bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4/13 y'all!!! :D


	28. Elders' Curses

_The way the Chimeric told him about the errands, Gamzee knew there was some kind of pressure making his moirail refuse to look him in the eye, and that needed to get all motherfucking sorted out. These side-missions didn't mean much as far as Gamzee cared about anything. He was a religious man, and his own debates with the young Chimeric had proved that the things a body believes in don't always make sense. He knew the truth of why the Chimeric had taken a detour now, and even as he explained himself, Gamzee mostly heard the apology in his voice the whole time. If it had been anyone else, Gamzee would have been much angrier, but he felt the Chimeric's regret and sorrow over the deception._

_"And once we're safely on the water again... there's more I need to say," the Chimeric told him, with a reassuring hand cupping his cheek, warm as ever, but more calloused now than in his youth. "In the meantime, the code word the Tameless needs to hear is 'errands.' That will keep her from yowling to everyone else what I'm up to."_

_"I hear you, my little bro," Gamzee answered._

_The Tameless responded to the code with chilly acceptance. "Good," she said. "Why he felt he couldn't tell you from the start, I'll never know."_

_Gamzee knew why—or at least, understood—but figured it wasn't his place to tell. So he shrugged and let the matter drop._

_The celebration lasted until an hour or so before sunup, which required everyone to seek shelter anyway. The belly of the_ Absolution _filled with trolls as they waited for dusk to fall again, when they'd set sail for the next location with 'strategic advantage.' Even knowing the Chimeric had chosen those points based on the chimera's prophecy, Gamzee maintained faith that his little bro would seamlessly weave those targets into the plan to resist the Compasse._

_They still had a cabin to themselves, that little cubbyhole meant for one but now holding two. When they settled down there, the Chimeric had his brows pinched together, concern and worry on his face._

_"There's something else I need to tell you," he said. Gamzee looked at him, knowing the correct action was to listen and accept what his moirail had to say, but he really wasn't feeling it._

_"We'll have all the time up in this mortal incarnation of a planet to tell me whatever that noise is." He smiled a little and let his hands reach around the Chimeric, fingers already teasing the buckles that held his armor in place. “Can I hold your soul close, where I can pity you good and motherfucking proper? For one more day?“_

_Pile-talk like that proved especially effective against a hopeless romantic, and Gamzee got to wile away the rest of the sun-scorched hours with his little bro snuggled up against him. There was a storm coming for them. The fastest ship in the empire couldn't outrun it much longer. Gamzee knew, but figured it was all the more reason to enjoy the time they had now, before it ran out._

_They set sail again when night fell. The Chimeric briefed everyone that they would be recruiting again, but this time from a set of willing volunteers who would come to the rebellion. Therefore, they needed to hit an urban center, where their message could reach the largest number of people. It made the most sense to continue north, through a few passes and channels, and then turn south into the eastern reaches of Beforus. Gamzee knew very little about the region, save for a distinctive local dialect that the Chimeric had learned to speak and a purpleblooded brother, the Sanguine, he had known from there. She had attended the Chimeric's titling day, and that meant she had been present for Gamzee’s excommunication. He lifted a hand toward his broken horn, but stopped and curled it into a fist._ Thinking about that is no help to any motherfucker.

_Gamzee did his best to put it all out of his mind, but at the end of that night, it all caught up to him. No pale platitudes could dissuade his moirail from what he wanted to say._

_He wanted to tell Gamzee about his death._

_“I know, motherfucker, I know,” he said, trying to head off the discussion. “I knew back when you were a wiggler that you’d die before me, we don’t need to talk about this, please…”_

_The Chimeric stayed adamant. “We do. I’m sorry, Murfle, but we have to.”_

_It was one thing for Gamzee to know that his little bro had the shorter lifespan between the two of them. It was another thing to know someone was going to kill his little bro. Making heads or tails of how he reacted would be a job for another troll. Gamzee just knew that he cried, and he held the Chimeric tightly, and half-snarled vows and threats left his lips. He’d have revenge… He’d find this assassin and tear their limbs apart… No, he’d find the assassin_ before _it came time for the Chimeric to die and stop the whole thing from happening!_

_The Chimeric wept too, but seemed more composed about this. He shooshed Gamzee until they had no more tears to cry. “I’ve spent my whole life doing things other trolls called impossible… but we can’t change this. The most I can do is warn you.”_

_“You will? You... can?”_

_The Chimeric nodded. “There will be signs. I’ll know when it’s coming, and I can tell you. Just so you’ll know.”_

_Gamzee tilted his face forward to touch foreheads with the Chimeric. “Makes me feel twisted and sick to think there’s gonna be a night I don’t see your face anymore. Cuz if we both know which pile is our goodbye, I’m… Motherfucker, I never wanna say goodbye.”_

_“We don’t have to. We can say anything we like.” The Chimeric managed to smile. “I, for one, will take pains on that last-pile night to inform you that you snore louder than a half-asphyxiated tusked blubberbeast and then spend the time insisting that we find a long-term solution that will let me sleep for once in my fucked-up life.”_

_“Or we could find that motherfucking solution now…”_

_“We could. And I’ll find something else to complain about then.”_

_Like a lifeline, or an escape route, Gamzee allowed the distraction to pull them away from the upsetting topics. He just wanted to feel pity for this miracle of a troll and forget anything that could harm them. Forget their enemies, forget the dangers, forget their fate._

“You’re gonna _mourn_ for what you’ve done, motherfucker.”

_Gamzee had discounted the Grand Highblood’s words for so long. Sure, his life had diverted far off of the parallel locomotive path, but Gamzee mourned nothing. He felt freer, happier, and more alive than he ever had in his span. But the Chimeric knowing something about his own date of expiry put a cold and dark fear into all of the good Gamzee had found in his new life. Like the Grand Highblood’s words had placed a curse on Gamzee’s head._

_Curse or not, in the nights following the Chimeric’s latest revelation, Gamzee would catch himself watching his little bro from a distance. His shift in the duties schedule. His strategic meetings with the Seafarer and Captain. His projects to foster community among his followers, matching the formally and informally educated together so they could teach each other. Gamzee practically felt himself falling into pale pity all over again, simply knowing that he needed to treasure every moment they had together now. Then again, he didn’t say when his death would happen. The Chimeric knew events that needed to happen before his death, but not how quickly they would come. Maybe they had ten, fifty, a hundred more sweeps together. The Chimeric had already proved wrong every other assumption about his life. Why not the one about his lifespan?_

_That thought was nothing more than a placating excuse, but Gamzee took what he could get in times like this. If he believed in it hard enough, the truth would follow, even if only in his own head. He’d find the will to smile as he took sailing shifts, sat in on strategic discussions, and spoke to the funny little friends the Chimeric had gathered around a common cause._

_“Sails!” a voice from the watch cried. The bustle of the decks slowed as everyone turned to face the direction the lookout pointed. In a minute, Gamzee could pick out a few white specks across the ocean._

_“Is it a pursuit ship?”_

_“It can’t be, it’s headed the wrong way.”_

_“But it’s going to see us—report us!”_

_“Then we’ll just sink it! They don’t call this thing a destroyer galleon for nothing!”_

_The Chimeric stepped up onto a railing, bracing himself with some rope. “Listen!” he commanded attention. “This is not a crisis. It is an opportunity! We have firepower, we have passion, and we have our beliefs! And that ship is the second in what will become our_ fleet _! It has supplies, it has space, and it may yet have new followers of our cause! Stand together, and our power will grow!”_

_Inspiring stuff, at least judging by the cheers that passed through the rebels. Gamzee looked from the Chimeric, to the distant ship, to the blue stains on his shirt. He should have been there for him. He should always fight by his little bro’s side, ready at any moment to throw his body between the Chimeric and that future Assassin’s weapon._

“You’re gonna _mourn_ for what you’ve done, motherfucker.”

_The rebel trolls ran about the deck, taking battle stations and picking up weapons. the Seafarer tilted their vessel to intercept the other. He took a deep breath through his nose, smelling salt and wood and the fears of those about to do battle._

If I gotta mourn, then I’m gonna mourn. That’s your motherfucking curse, Grand Highblood _._ But I’m gonna place that curse on the motherfucker who kills the Chimeric, too. If I gotta mourn, they gotta mourn.

_Gamzee found clubs of his own: familiar, smooth, heavy branches, crafted for feats of dexterity and destined to be used for brutality._

I’m gonna drag my little bro’s killer to hell with me.

 

* * *

 

turntechGodhead [TG] is now pestering  carcinoGeneticist [TG]

TG: okay what the fucking hell  
TG: did you know rose can just make herself awake out of a dreambubble  
TG: when the hell did she learn to do that and why is she keeping that lalondian secret so close to her sunny chest  
TG: shes got it squirreled away in her own private victorias secret compartment between her rumble spheres  
TG: using the troll word doesnt make discussing my sisters chest any less awkward  
TG: forget i said any of that  
TG: anyway are you awake  
TG: im pretty much ready to chill because that dreambubble got nasty and i think i could watch almost any cotton candy romance you put in front of me  
TG: what do you say  
TG: hello  
TG: are you there  
CG: HEY.  
TG: there you are   
TG: about goddamn time  
CG: LISTEN, SOMETHING CAME UP. I CAN’T HANG RIGHT NOW.  
CG: IF YOU’RE SERIOUS ABOUT WANTING TO WATCH SOME TROLL ROMCOMS, MY RECOMMENDATION IS “LOVE’S LABORS LYNCHED.” IT’S THE ONE WITH THE IDENTICAL LOOKING LOWBLOODS ON THE COVER AND THE HIGHBLOOD WITH SERRATED-EDGE HORNS.  
TG: i cant wade through your infinite movie collection just come and show me which one it is  
CG: I TOLD YOU, I CAN’T.  
CG: DO YOUR BEST TO PICK WHATEVER LOOKS INTERESTING, AND IF YOU CAN’T FIND IT WE’LL WATCH IT NEXT TIME.  
CG: I HAVE TO GO.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling  turntechGodhead [TG]

_What the hell…?_

Dave stared at the messages for a minute. Then he reread them. And re-reread them. What the fuck was Karkat talking about? Something coming up? Dave felt like the stupid parent in those movies where the kid has some kind of fantastical pet they're trying to unconvincingly hide, but instead of a laugh track, there was the Jaws theme. Whatever Karkat was hiding, why did he have to hide it from Dave? To continue the shitty movie metaphor, why was Dave cast as the parent when he could be the cool best friend next door who helped Karkat with the ruse, and they had to fool Vriska and like, the Mayor into thinking they weren't up to anything?

And Dave wouldn't be able to give Karkat that 'you're special and I like you' spiel if they didn't hang out.

Dave had fallen asleep out of nowhere in the middle of the common room. When he had woken, he had sent his messages from there, hoping it’d be an easy location for Karkat to find him. But instead, there was no Karkat, nowhere to go, and nothing to do but sit with his thoughts and the echoes of that memory they found: that island, and the Condesce, and Grandma Jade.

Fuck, he missed Jade. Even seeing an old lady alternate her who'd mostly shot guns and run for her life made him nostalgic. Her green text peppered with emoticons, her willingness to run with any stupid idea his brain plopped out and therefore make it feel less stupid, her mysterious statements about her golden dreams and impossible things coming to pass, hunting frogs through the melted wilderness, talking about gardening, or squiddles, or atomic theory, or her dog, or her life.

And that memory reminded Dave of her courage and determination, too. She'd stood up to the Condesce, a person the trolls reflexively feared and who scared Dave pretty bad too. And even though that had been Grandma Jade, Dave felt like the real Jade would do the same thing. She'd plant her feet and lift her chin and stare a fish alien in the face without flinching.

And Dave had just watched her die.

He slid his hands under his shades and pressed on his eyes to keep them from leaking. He had to keep it together. That Jade hadn't even been real, she had just been a memory, and even the incarnation of Jade that had lived through that had to be a ghost in the dreambubbles now. She was fine, mostly. Ghostly-fine.

But what about at the new session? Would Jade be in danger for real? What would Dave do if he was in her place, faced with the Condesce? Or Jack Noir? He had been trying to stand up to the danger with a sword in shaking hands. He'd be clobbered if he tried to fight like that, and Jade... not just Jade, Terezi, and Rose, and Karkat...

_"You're never going to learn if you don't fight back. Now get up. We’re not done here."_

Maybe that's what his Bro had been trying to teach him? How to stand up to a real enemy that wouldn't cut it out just because Dave wanted them to? But if that was true, why were Dave's hands shaking just remembering those fights with his Bro? What was wrong with him? He'd had the most badass swordmaster for a big brother and all he'd learned was how to be scared.

Fuck this.

Dave stood up, captchalogued his shit, and left the common space, heading out into dark halls and hopefully someplace else where the depressive miasma wasn't so thick. He wondered who else was awake yet. Rose for sure. Kanaya wasn't with them so maybe she didn't even go to sleep? Terezi might be awake now.

...Actually, even though Dave had been really Karkat-centric with his concern (the nubby one had every right to claim the title of Most Traumatized Seeing An Ancient Fish Empress) Terezi had looked a little rough around the edges too. No maniacal grinning or scent-pun commentary. And she had showed she could actually give a shit about his feelings, from the last time they had witnessed a brutal murder in a dreambubble. Dave pulled out his phone and decided he might as well give it a shot.

turntechGodhead [TG] is now pestering  gallowsCalibrator [GC]

TG: hey are you awake yet  
GC: JUST D1D, WH4TS UP?  
TG: any chance you wanna continue this sweet trend of doing things that are personally helpful to me and not asking any questions about them  
GC: S1NC3 WH3N W4S TH4T 4 TR3ND?  
TG: you were chill after seeing that memory of mournzee losing his shit on the huntvros  
TG: you didnt ask questions and since vriska didnt give me any sass about it after that means you kept it even from her  
TG: or you really do have some kind of sisterly blackmail net going on where you have threatening retribution that keeps her personal asshole fires checked  
TG: either way that was cool of you and i want to figure out if you could find it in your troll word for soul to maybe do the same thing and keep total pinkie promise mum about what im about to ask you  
GC: C4N 1 4SK ON3 QU3ST1ON F1RST?   
TG: maybe  
GC: WH4T 1S 1T TH4T YOU W4NT M3 TO DO?  
TG: sparring time  
TG: just  
TG: going through the motions in a super basic tutorial for idiot babygrubs who dont know shit kind of way  
TG: with no questions asked  
GC: H3H3H3H3H3H3H3  
TG: what?  
GC: YOUR N3RVOUS ST4MM3R1NG JUST SM3LLS SO 4DOR4BL3  
GC: BUT 1 W1LL COMPLY W1TH YOUR R3QU3ST TO M4TCH BL4D3S W1TH YOU 4ND NOT 1NQU1R3 FURTH3R 4BOUT YOUR MOT1V3S  
GC: 1S TH3R3 4NY CH4NC3 TH4T 1F 1 DO 3NOUGH F4VORS FOR YOU 1LL G3T 4 CH4NC3 TO L1CK YOUR 3Y3S?  
TG: hell to the fucking no  
GC: SOM3D4Y YOU W1LL OW3 M3 YOUR L1F3 STR1D3R (MOR3 TH4N YOU 4LR34DY DO)  
GC: 4ND YOU W1LL KNOW TH4T TH3 ONLY 3QU1T4BL3 R3SOLUT1ON W1LL B3 TONGU3-ON-1R1S 4CT1ON  
TG: that day is not today  
TG: and its not any day soon  
TG: just see you in the sparring room  
GC: BY3!

Dave changed his course for one of the laboratories that currently served as an unofficial sparring chamber. A very thin silver lining started to show around his dark and fearful cloud. Unlike Dave's sparring sessions with his Bro, in the fight ahead, he wouldn't have to fight alone.


	29. Memories and Miracles

Karkat lost track of time worse than usual. Gamzee held him back in his nest for what felt like hours, and once Karkat got a chance to look around, he realized his palmhusk was missing. Did anyone message him? Who? And when? On top of it all, searching for the fucking thing without signaling to Gamzee that he was looking for something was a bitch and a half. He didn’t want to get in another fight about whether Karkat should really be so happy to hear from Dave, or anyone else for that matter. Karkat almost felt like he was taking care of his lusus again: a beloved but unintelligible creature making himself into a nuisance more often than not. But, again like Karkat’s lusus, no one else would take care of him. He couldn’t just give up.

Eventually, he found the thing buried at the bottom of a pile of weapons (including some sharp surprises pinched from their dead friends, why couldn’t the whole stack be juggling clubs?) and realized there were a slew of all-caps, eight-lettered messages demanding that Karkat get his ass to the communal rumpusblock, “PR8NT88888888!” What in the world had pissed Vriska off so much?

He left Gamzee like he’d tear an adhesive wound covering off of his body: barking a quick “I’ll be back soon!” at him and then scurrying into the vent before Gamzee could insist he stay. As Karkat crawled through the metal tubes, he formulated a basic game plan. Figure out what was stabbing Vriska’s nook, delegate the responsibility to someone else, and hightail it back to Gamzee before he could get antsy and murderous. Honestly, the sooner Karkat could get his good bro able to stand the company of the rest of the meteor, the better. He didn’t think he could keep up serving as Gamzee’s only point of social contact for much longer.

He arrived at the designated block, that mishmash of bullshit and salvaged plush furniture that they called a living space, even with all kinds of unwelcoming industrial piping and wiring still visible. Karkat arrived last, and already he could tell he was  _ very _ distant from the circular containment area of knowledge. Something had happened with Rose and Kanaya. They almost always sat together for meetings like this, but the nervous space had closed. Rose had her comprehensive note-taking tome on her lap and was fiddling with its corners, smiling as she and Kanaya whispered to each other. Dave had taken a smaller couch and created an obvious distance between himself and the flushed aura surrounding Lalonde and Maryam, like trying to stay away from a magnificently potent fart. Terezi sat on a small table near Vriska at the supposed ‘front’ of this circle—the leader’s place, the place Karkat would have stood a sweep ago—facing Dave and not reacting whatsoever to the giggles of the flushed girls nearby. Maybe Karkat had just arrived too late to hear all of her oh-so-stellar smell-based romance puns.

…Actually, he really wished he had heard those. He wanted something to get angry at that wasn’t himself.

“There you are, Vantas! What the fuck is going on with you, I thought our big-shot leader would have been  _ first _ in line to attend a critical mission update session!” Everyone with eyes turned to stare at Karkat at her words.  _ Oh god. _

“I heard you were going to be here and tried to ignore it as long as possible, but I had no choice after your aggressive badgering,” Karkat snarked back. He had to choose a place to sit. Next to Dave, obviously, but what Gamzee had said earlier held him back. Was Karkat filling the role of the stupid loser best friend in the movie that starred Dave Strider? The character whose flaws were meant to highlight the virtues of the real hero of the story? Already, it was taking too long to make this decision, so Karkat split the difference: he chose the same couch as Dave, but sat on the opposite end, in the range of Kanaya and Rose’s flirtatious aura. Dave said nothing, like an emotionless cool kid, as to be expected.

“Wow, such burns. I am so burned. Terezi, can you smell how burned I am?”

“Positively scorched,” Terezi gleefully described.

“Right, suuuuuuuuper burned. But I’ll just have to carry on and get to the good stuff, which is going over all the shit we’ve learned from memories since we last had a chance to be in one place like this.”

“Do we have to?” Dave raised a hand. “Because if we were all there, then we all already know and we do not need an update.”

“Some of this happened a long time ago, and since not  _ everyone _ was present, it’s worth reviewing.” Vriska gave Karkat an eight-pupiled stinkeye, which he scowled at. “Plus I think Rose wants to put it in her book or something boooooooring like that.”

Rose shrugged a little. “I selflessly volunteer for the arduous burden of historical documentation.”

“All the more reason to get started, because we’ve made some pretty big discoveries regarding the sitution in the new session, some more details about ancient Beforus, and what we plan to do about these pieces of information.” Vriska cleared her throat. “I want to start with the memory of Jade and the Condesce, because we have more questions than answers after that bubble. Terezi, would you do the honors?”

Vriska ceding the floor, the Seer of Mind hopped up and started to pace in a very hardboiled manner. If she started talking about herself in the third person, Karkat was going to flip a table.

“The contents of that bubble presented a rare and unprecedented opportunity for us: we were able to see a memory from the new session, specifically a memory from before the beginning. We’re better able to make a comparison of what exactly the Scratch changed and what we can expect to find. Kanaya and I already deduced from some volumes here that the heroes of the next session will be the dancestors of our human friends, which is my first point. We learned that one of them is named ‘Jake,’ and one is named ‘Jane.’”

“John, Jade, Jake, Jane…” Vriska interrupted. “Are humans just totally starved for inspiration to use the rest of their funny-looking alphabet when naming people?”

“Shuuush!” Terezi waved in Vriska’s general direction to try and make her pipe down. “The point of bringing them up is something the Condesce said about her powers! She said she had ‘control’ of Jane, and based on some deductions from Rose, it seems Jake would have been a very tiny wiggler at the time when his guardian Jade died.”

Karkat blinked and tried to keep his face still. Gamzee had woken him up before he got to that part, but really, what other outcome had he expected?

“That is still a very short and nebulous statement with many possible conclusions,” Kanaya said.

“Right, and I don’t think we have the information necessary to determine what the Condesce exactly meant by that. But what it  _ does _ tell us is, we might not be able to assume that all of the heroes we’re going to reunite with will be on our side.”

“So we should go into this expecting that we’ll have to fight our own dancestors?” Dave said.

“Why not?” Vriska shrugged. “It’s not unheard of for people supposedly on the heroic side of this conflict to try and join the enemy.”

“What if they’re too strong, and we can’t?” Dave continued. Karkat had no idea what he was referring to, but felt an impulse to scoot closer to Dave. Something sounded off.

“I think I can clarify Terezi’s statement,” Rose jumped in. “I can speak with extreme certainty that the heroes of the new session wish to create a universe free from danger, just like us, but our enemies may use trickery and deception to turn us against each other.”

“Rose’s right. Step one upon arriving in the new universe will be finding ways to recover or neutralize everyone falling into that bucket, the Jane Human among them,” Vriska explained. “Actually, between Dave’s timetables and Aradia’s time traveling music boxes in my possession, we could do some important reconnaissance in the past and break that control before it starts.”

“Do we have to? I was thinking I’d go it linear the rest of this way.”

“Hang on a minute, the Knight of Time, whose greatest weapon is exploiting the flow of time, does  _ not _ want to use time travel when the lives of his friends are on the line?” Vriska snarked .

“You’ve got time travel too, so it’s not like you need me to do it.”

Rose leaned around Kanaya to address Dave directly. “Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll postpone the logistics discussion until we know how much time travel would actually be beneficial.”

Dave shrugged. “Okay, so we’ll stay on the lookout for allies in need of knock back to the Light Side. Is that all?”

“Not even close. Some of the other things the Condesce bragged about controlling included Derse, something called CrockerCorp, the timeline itself, and something she just described as ‘more power.’ Rose noticed this first, but it looked like the Condesce is able to use psionic powers, like Aradia and Sollux’s.”

“That’s impossible,” Kanaya said.

Rose spoke up: “At the risk of sounding rude, it’s fairly obvious that none of us really want to spend more time in this meeting than strictly necessary, so I won’t go into an exhaustive list of all the other impossible and unprecedented things we’ve directly accomplished thus far. Why wouldn’t it be possible for the Alternian Empress to develop abilities similar to others of her species, given enough time and practice?”

“But how  _ much _ time would that take?” Kanaya debated.

“She said she had control of the timeline itself, which could give her infinite time.”

“So wait, Condesce is time-traveling too?” Dave said. “Time travel is getting to be a stupidly common power.”

“We think that power might be related to the tale of the Handmaid, the servant of Lord English,” Rose said, taking up the narrative again. “The story is incomplete from my perspective, but reportedly the Handmaid was only able to die at the hands of her replacement, who happened to be the Condesce. That succession could help explain the atypical powers she demonstrated against post-scratch Jade.”

“The jibe that Jade made about servitude all but confirms the Condesce is taking orders, even with all of her ridiculous powers,” Terezi said.

Karkat kept listening to the conversation and realized he hadn’t said a word. By now, he probably would have been shouting his head off about his own proposed course of action based on these facts. But everyone had this under control. The meeting ran in an orderly fashion, with minimal grumbling and logical conclusions.

_ They don’t need me. _ Karkat hugged his elbows and looked at his knees. A voice that didn’t sound like his own added,  _ they don’t want you. _

He zoned out for a bit of the discussion, talking about what the hell a CrockerCorp was and some really weird human-familial terms the Condesce and Jade used, like ‘little gill’ and ‘mother.’ The general consensus was that the Condesce might have an alter-ego or human disguise she used in order to further expand her influence. The fact that she purportedly controlled Derse got summarily dismissed, since the fact that it was a void session in the first place implied that the Derse royals would not be the same godmode bosses that the trolls and pre-Scratch humans had fought. The best plan that Vriska handed down to everyone was that learning whatever the dreambubbles would show them about Jane and Jake would be critical. They seemed to be the ones the Condesce singled out for meddling.

“So if that’s clear, I’m going to change the topic,” Vriska said. “To Gamzee.”

Karkat shivered and looked up, his heart starting to thump out of control. Did they know where he was going? Were they going to single him out? Were they going to hurt him? Throw him off the meteor?

“Terezi and Dave found a Beforus memory that illustrated something… interesting,” Vriska continued. The longer she tiptoed around the topic, the higher Karkat felt his blood pressure rise. “It turns out, the end of the Chimeric’s rebellion involved a standoff between the Chimeric and Huntsman, which ended with the Chimeric getting shot with a crossbow and then teleporting somewhere via the planet’s First Guardian. The Mournful understandably lost his shit and did something pretty… Alternian… to the Huntsman.”

It started to dawn on Karkat that his secret may still be safe for now, but another memory bubbled up, from the time he went to see the Mournful alone. He saw the pain on the old ghost’s face as he begged Karkat,  _ don’t make me speak on that, please. _ It hadn’t occurred to Karkat that, based on the weird ancestor loophole, memories of that final fight would be in the patchwork afterlife glubbed up by the Outer Gods.

“Finding that memory got me thinking that we’re ignoring a possible resource,” Terezi picked up. “The humans never had any direct experience with this, but our Gamzee had some shocking amounts of power, all without reaching god tier.”

“Enough strength to kill two of our friends,” Kanaya said darkly.

“Hey, no, this is a no hypocrisy zone, Fussyfangs,” Vriska spoke up. “The memory just reminded us of how strong of an ally Gamzee can be, and how dangerous it is to leave him in a place where he could join our enemies.”

“Why would he again? I thought he was just a loose clown horn cannon,” Dave said.

“The connections here are still weak, but Rose and I did a little talking and we’re fairly certain that the mythology of the Mirthful Messiahs is actually rooted in the story of Lord English’s creation.”

“Are you fucking with me? It’s just some insane recursive-slash-causal Insane Clown Posse reference.”

“Yes, and the  _ reason _ it’s a recursive-slash-causal reference is because it’s based on the worship of Lord English, who we’re pretty sure is an omnipresent force in all universes,” Terezi said. “Which means, those slam jesters you’re familiar with in your universe probably also exist in the post-Scratch universe. Whichever faction can best convince Gamzee that they represent the interests of his Messiahs will get him on their side.”

“Where are you going with this?” Kanaya said.

Terezi folded her hands and straightened her spine. “I propose we hold a trial. The People vs Gamzee Makara, where we can determine once and for all if he can meet the bare minimum standards of allegiance to our cause.”

“I disagree—the indictment will not stick,” Rose said.

“Correct,” Kanaya added.

“Same,” said Dave.

Vriska groaned. “What happened to not being a pile of idiots, hmmmmmmmm? I mean, I sincerely doubt that Gamzee is going to pass the trial, but not trying is just stupid. We already know that some of the future allies we were depending on won’t be as friendly as we want! And I want to remind everyone crying about how he’s killed a couple of people, who  _ hasn’t _ killed at least a  _ handful _ of people? What matters is that everyone in this room is willing to work together to get a new universe to live in where maybe we don’t have to run for our fucking lives anymore! If Gamzee’s interested in that, then we might as well give him an offer.”

Was Karkat dreaming? No way could this be a dreambubble, there were no lingering feelings of déjà vu cloying in his think pan. He couldn’t have asked for better news. The rest of the meteor wanted to make peace with Gamzee and offer him a second chance—or at least, Vriska did, and the way things were going these days only her opinion mattered anyway.

“Terezi?” Dave said, one eyebrow visible over his shades. “I thought the clown-exile was his punishment or something. You really okay with letting him go on parole?”

“I am. In fact, all of this was my idea. And you said it yourself, he’s not getting pardoned.”

“What if he lies?”

“We won’t accept his allegiance unless he’s willing to say it with his stupid greasepaint cleaned off. Just to make sure.”

Something in Karkat’s stomach churned. Before he could even stop himself, his mouth opened. “Absolutely not.”

Everyone turned to him, showing various levels of shock to hear him speak. “What did you just say?” Vriska narrowed her eyes.

“It’s… it’s more complicated than that,” Karkat scrambled to come up with a plausible reason. “His whole shitty religion is super-removed from these… Lord English roots or whatever. He’s not just going to go and pal around with the indiscriminate murder-demon attempting to destroy reality itself.”

“Even removing potential Lord English connections from this equation, I seem to recall that, during his murderous rampage, Gamzee referred to himself as the singular embodiment of both Messiahs,” Kanaya argued. “This religion is heavily associated with the traditions of the subjugglators who owed allegiance to the Condesce, and above her, to the concept of mayhem itself.”

“It’s—an attack on his religious beliefs! Think of it from his side, he has to blaspheme his religion or lose any chance at being accepted! It’s like blackmail!”

“It’s pretty unreasonable to use religious freedom as a defense for violent sociopathic tendencies,” Rose said. “This may have just been an American-Earth-Human rule, but individuals forfeited their right to free worship practices when those rituals involved crimes against others. Having devout beliefs is no reason to permit harm.”

“And to clarify, we’re not asking him to stop wearing the paint. He just needs to take it off. Once he does that he can cover his entire body in the stuff and speak in shitty slam poetry for the rest of his life.” A beleaguered groan from Dave interrupted Terezi, but she continued on. “And it sounds like you’re in favor of having Gamzee back on the team, right Karkat?”

Karkat swallowed hard. “I just want to stop worrying about whether he’s watching from the vents when I use the ablution trap.”

“Then you should be in support of this. We’re relaxing from ‘no way in fucking hell’ to ‘if he can meet some standards.’ Like Vriska said, the odds of him going for this are low, but he has a  _ chance _ to apologize and say he’ll help.”

He didn’t have anything else to argue. The only reason his claws weren’t shaking was because he had them curled in the sleeves of his sweater. Sure, he still disagreed that Gamzee should have to take his paint off to be considered a team player, but… what if he  _ did _ ? What if Gamzee came back to the fold, apologized, forgave, and Karkat didn’t have to try and manage his fears and mood swings alone? This situation nearly had Karkat believing in miracles.

“So you’re on board?” Vriska pressed.

“Fine, whatever,” Karkat answered. He hoped his voice didn’t tremble.

“So we’re settled! Break!” Vriska clapped her hands, and everyone got the signal to disperse. Rose and Kanaya darted off in the same direction, and Karkat got a glimpse of their connected hands. Terezi nodded at Vriska and shuffled toward a different hallway, hands in her pockets.

Dave turned to Karkat. “So—”

“Sorry, I have to go,” Karkat told him. If he let Dave finish that sentence he might get suckered into staying, and Gamzee would be unsupervised for too long.

“But—”

Karkat just bolted away toward the alchemiter block. If he whipped up some kind of snack really fast, it could placate Gamzee and distract him from how long he was gone. He knew the code for grubpuffs by heart, just punch it in and go. And the path in the vents, forward forward left up left again…

“Karkaaaaaaaat!”

Vriska’s voice made him jump, right before the Thief herself slid in front of Karkat, blocking the way down the hallway.

“What the sphincter-blister are you doing?!” Karkat snapped at her.

“Lighten up already, will you? You have been so tricky to find lately, and I need to talk to you!”

“Not now.”

“Yes now. You don’t get to disappear again until we’ve had a talk.”

“About what?!”

“You remember that scarf that the vanishing John gave you? The red one that supposedly told him all kinds of weird pranks to pull in preparation for punching me in the face?”

“What about it?”

“Tell me what’s on it!”

“No!”

“Come oooooooon!”

“I said no! Now move!”

Karkat shifted from side to side, trying to dart around Vriska, but she kept pace effortlessly with a shit-eating grin on her face. He didn’t have time for this! That meeting had already taken way longer than he wanted, he had to  _ go _ !

“Pleeeeeeeease! Surely you’ve read over it and memorized it all. I mean, how much text can fit on a scarf anyway? I just want to know what it said!”

“It said ‘Vriska is a diseased bulgesore infected with the most disgusting viruses known to trollkind! All who trust her perish!’”

“See, it’s been so long since we last hung out, I’m not even mad about your trite little insults!” Vriska said, booping Karkat on the nose with a level of condescension Karkat had never imagined experiencing. Half his brain saw spades. The other half saw himself as too worthless to loathe in the first place. “Give it up, Karkat. I’m not moving until I know what’s on that scarf!”

He couldn’t take it. He knew it was impulsive, and dangerous, and reckless, but Karkat reached into his sylladex and pulled out the old card where he had stashed the bloodstained scarf to try and forget about it. “You like scarves so much?! Here!” He threw the strip of fabric at Vriska, not caring if she even caught it. “I hope you wrap it so tight around your neck you  _ choke _ ! Now will you let me go?!”

“Happily! Was that so hard?” Vriska caught the end of the scarf and started spooling it around one hand while she stepped aside for Karkat. “Have fun sitting alone in your room like a loser!”

Karkat meant to tune her out, but he couldn’t. What the fuck had he just done, throwing away that scarf? What would Vriska do with it? Would John hate him if he knew he caved so easily to a little pressure? Did he just throw away the last bit of responsibility, leadership, that he possessed?

No, he still had one thing. It would be his responsibility to get Gamzee in shape so he could stand trial. Then this double-life nightmare would be over.


	30. In Motion

Terezi ran the fabric through her fingers, sniffing the contrasting teal-on-cherry. The scarf was very tightly woven, since anything looser would have been impossible to write on, even using blood for ink. She had to be thankful for that, as well as the fact that the words were really easy to read. Even she would be disgusted by the idea of licking mysterious congealed blood that was probably, somehow, hers.

“Need any help reading it?” Vriska asked, anticipating that Terezi wouldn’t want to touch the scarf with her tongue.

“Nope. It’s my handwriting, so it’s pretty easy to interpret.”

“Cool. Does it… help?”

“With what?”

“Your weird feelings about John.”

“Who said they’re weird?”

“You  _ act  _ weird about them! And you were acting so weird about this scarf!” Vriska folded her arms. “And you’re the one who wanted me to help in the first place.”

“I know, I know.” Terezi sighed and pulled the scarf back to the beginning. “I’m just trying to process all of this. I know I wrote all of these instructions, but I don’t know  _ why  _ I would. The last things on here are for him to knock you out and then give me his wallet, so I guess everything before that is supposed to be building up to that…”

“Yeah, I don’t get what the ‘witness’ was supposed to be about.”

“One of my scalemates. I was using it in a courtblock roleplay before we even started playing Sgrub, and when I turned to look, it was gone. Then it showed up again while I was investigating Tavros’s murder, right before I tried to see if I could revive his dreamself.”

Vriska smelled as confused as Terezi felt. “…Why? To the thing about the scalemate, not Tavros.” 

“I don’t know! I get the sense that it was all meant to guide my investigation in the right direction. While Gamzee was on his murder rampage, he was trying to pin the deaths on you, and even though I know your style too well to fall for those stupid tricks… I… I think I wanted to.”

“You  _ wanted  _ to blame me?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“But why would I do any of that?”

“You were going crazy!” Terezi let the scarf drop into her lap, afraid she’d nervously wring it too hard and damage the writing. “It was starting to become obvious to me that you intended to do something enormous and awful that would threaten us all.”

“Right, and your plan was to stop me by killing me. But you don’t have to blame me for stuff I didn’t do!”

Terezi wanted to say more, but a lump in her throat made her pause. “…Because I was starting to think you  _ had _ to die. And I wanted to justify it, more than anything. Just to make sure I could go through with it.”

She didn’t say anything else, letting her eyes close behind her shades. Even with everything else falling apart, Terezi couldn’t help noticing that even though her eyes saw just as much open as closed, she liked leaving them open.

“…You don’t have to worry about that, you know,” Vriska said.

“Why?”

“John stopped it. He stopped you from killing me  _ and _ stopped me from going to fight Jack. And I’ll say it again, we’re on the same team now, and that’s not changing. It doesn’t matter what you were planning on doing to me because it never happened. You and I have a more important job, to make sure all our stupid friends don’t dumb themselves to death!”

Terezi managed a small smile. “I’m going to tell them you said that.”

“Good. They need to know they’re a bunch of morons.” Terezi smelled a few white fangs in Vriska’s smile. “So we’re both in agreement that John saved our asses, but how it happened is getting to you, right?”

Right, yes. An opening to get off of this topic and back to business. “I mean, these look like the kind of notes I used to take when I helped Dave set up his stable time loops, but John never had time-traveling powers, and when he showed up at the end and left again, I don’t remember him using any time machines. So yes, this scarf ‘worked,’ but I don’t know _ how  _ it worked, and then knowing he was somehow present in all those other random ancient memories too!”

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about it. Whatever John is doing, it’s on your instructions, so the genius here is still you.”

“But it’s not the me that I am right now. It’s some me who only had her own  _ blood _ to write with, for fuck’s sake! And then he went off script sometimes, writing his name on the wall where he put the other advice and then I find out John is an alien kid that we met later but I heard of him before and then he wrote some more bullshit on the back of the scrap of poster like he’s  _ taunting _ me for the bad decisions I was going to make! I just don’t know what the fuck is going on and I want to take that stupid windsock hood of his and loop it around his neck and pull until I get  _ answers _ !”

Terezi had more to say, but Vriska interrupted her with laughter. “Hahahahahahahaha, just  _ listen _ to yourself!”

“What!? What’s so funny?!”

“It really sounds like you’re actually pitch for him.”

“Gross, no!”

“You’re literally ranting about how much his presence in your life bothers you! Man, I can’t remember the last time I saw your cheeks get that teal. It’s actually really adorable.”

“What about this situation is adorable?!”

“Because if I know anything about John—and trust me, I got to know him preeeeeeeetty well while serving as his masterful mentor—I know he’s just as pissed as you are!”

“That makes no sense, how could he be pissed off when he’s the one who knows what the fuck is going on?”

“It takes a lot of cajoling to get John to do anything halfway useful. Seriously, that guy wasted soooooooo much of my time and his own on pointless bullshit, not to mention the fact that I knew I had to provide a lot of good reasons for him to do what I said early on so that he would follow my instructions to his own death.”

“Wow, bragging much?”

“I think I have every right to brag! It was my finest manipulation ever, and I didn’t even use my powers for anything but a few mission-critical naps!”

“Fine, just tell me what reason John has to be mad at me!”

“Because these instructions are  _ way  _ too short and cryptic! I know he’ll get with the program and follow mysterious instructions if he’s really clear on what the consequences of not doing it are, but he’ll be frustrated and whiny about it the whole time! My opinion is, all his off-script actions were his way of lashing back at you for making him follow all your dumb little code words.” Vriska giggled again. “And I have to say, what this says about your taste in black romance is really adorable.”

This time, Terezi could feel the blood in her cheeks. “This has nothing to do with my ‘taste’ and everything to do with the fact John is the worst trickster ever.”

“Remember when Gamzee would drop out of the vents to try and corner you with really shitty blackflirting?”

“…Where are you going with this.”

“Stop being so suspicious! I’m just saying, I think Gamzee would know better than to come at you like that if he didn’t think there was a chance you’d be interested. And then seeing you get worked up about John…”

“Okay, forget how nonsensical John is, right now  _ you _ are not making a single scrap of sense. His Honorable Tyranny is licking his lips right now as he anticipates your swift defeat in the courtblock.”

“That’s just it! You want things to make  _ sense _ ! The chumpy Knight-boys make sense to you, Rose and Kanaya make sense to you, fuck, even I make sense to you! But Gamzee didn’t. You couldn’t put your finger on  _ why _ he did everything that he did, even in the face of irrefutable evidence that he did, and that definitely put you on the edge of hating him. So now, when John is hopping through time and space and leaving a bunch of shitty clues for you lying around, that gets you positively smoldering pitch!”

Terezi wanted to say something to refute Vriska, but Terezi’s understanding of her sister worked in reverse too. Vriska just knew her too well. 

“And I just want to add, John is the way better option for your kismesis. You have my blessing on that one.”

“Shut up, I don’t need anyone’s blessing!”

“Just think about it! Even if Gamzee does get with the program and joins Team Save Reality, he’s still a shitty, Faygo-swilling, insane clown. He’s gross and anyone willing to have him in a quadrant is gross. John is at least easy on the eyes—”

“Okay, now I  _ really _ need you to shut up! You are so terrible, why are we even talking about this!?”

“Because there’s nothing wrong with having a crush on John!” Vriska insisted. “John is a dumb little human with a good soul and terrible pranks. He’ll fuck up your day by upending a pail full of goo over your head, but then you can have the satisfaction of wrecking his shit in return. And he’s already willing to follow all these instructions of some doomed Terezi without any certainty about the outcome, so he trusts you not to kill him.” Vriska flipped her hair, relishing in her own cleverness. “It’s not like there’s much you can do about it now, and there’s no one to impress by acting stoic about it.”

Terezi didn’t know what to say. Vriska really did have her pinned, right down to what this attraction said about her taste in kismeses. And how did she do that, just speak with such confidence that she single-handedly cleared the haze around Terezi’s feelings?

_ I don’t need him because I need her. _

“I still can’t believe you managed to say all of that bullshit with a straight face,” Terezi said as she shook her head.

“Because it’s true, okay?”

“Whatever you say. Whatever you say.” 

 

* * *

 

_ The battle didn't last very long. The other ship turned out to be a cargo vessel with only four cannons total, and they didn't even try to fire them once they realized who exactly had crossed their path. Gamzee almost felt disappointed. Some part of him had been so ready to knock the heads of those who might wish his little bro harm. Well, there'd be other chances for sure. He'd find a chance to practice his miracles against their enemies eventually. _

_ In the meantime, there was some bureaucracy to handle. The Chimeric wanted to pull the thirty-or-so sailors from the cargo vessel to the  _ Absolution _ and then move some of his rebels into their places. The Captain of the  _ Lux Volans _ finally had her own independent ship again, which seemed to please her. The Tameless and a few others pawed through the cargo to discover what they had just plundered: fancy silver forks, less fancy plumbing pipes, some animal-shaped wiggler comfort objects, and heaps of salted grubscuits. Bland as those were, the rebellion cheered to find a new source of sustenance. Most of the rest of it would be sold, though the Chimeric invited any who wanted to try and weaponize the miscellaneous objects. Those pipes already looked plenty heavy, but not everyone was well-suited to blunt force fighting. _

_ When they set sail, the cargo stayed on the new vessel while the  _ Absolution _ gained a hull full of fear. Gamzee could hear their thoughts drifting up from below decks, sensing their panic and uncertainty. _

He's going to kill us! I don't want to die! I'll never see my lusus again! I'm no use to them, will they let me go or murder me?  _ And a thousand names and faces that they feared they would never see again: quadrantmates, neighbors, cullers and cullees. It reminded Gamzee of that music festival the Chimeric had attended as an adolescent, where he had met Twinhorn in person and tried doing drugs. _

How is that motherfucker doing...?

_ Well, Gamzee would think on him later. In the meantime, he'd watch the miracles at work. The Chimeric wouldn't be the leader of this here rebellion if he didn't intend to spread his message and see who among their new captives might just be friends who haven't yet joined the cause. The trolls had one tealblooded captain and a proportional smattering of other colors warmer than that green hue. After a few hours of sailing, the Chimeric journeyed below and asked for a troll who knew how to repair sailcloth. Gamzee hang back, more-or-less in the shadows and using their panic to cloak himself against those who didn't already know he was there. Funny how the ancestral chucklevoodoos saw more use now than ever. _

_ Everyone sat in terrified silence, so the Chimeric had to press: "Did you really set sail for your destination with no one able to repair the sails? This is your last chance to volunteer." _

_ The fear in the room flared, like a 'NO' screamed in a chorus. All assumed the Chimeric would start severing heads until a volunteer emerged. Thankfully, a brave little brownblood stepped forward and raised her hand. "I-I-I can." _

_ Pleased, the Chimeric escorted the volunteer up to the deck, where he called a few more rebels together to repair one of the sails that had curiously been slashed in long, clean lines, like with a sickle. His own followers volunteered more freely, and instead of a brutal overseer, the volunteer met two smiling trolls, one olive and another brown. They were set on the chore together, and Gamzee grinned fondly at the Chimeric, ruffling his hair when he passed by. _

_ "Stop fussing over me, I need to be taken seriously," the Chimeric protested, but he matched Gamzee's grin.  _

_ So the Chimeric had others to tell his story in their own words. Some knew the tale of the Chimeric sneaking aboard a ship full of criminals and indentured trolls and could speak to his leadership in the face of imperial support. Some told the story of the duel between the Chimeric and the Seafarer, and how the Tameless truly saved them all from drowning at sea. They could recount how the Seafarer came around to join their cause and steered them safely to shore. Then the battle at the culling house, the Chimeric's journey to the mountain and return with the bones of the decalogue that they all wrote together, before distributing it to all of Beforus. _

_ Half of Gamzee thought,  _ is that all we've done? _ while the other half said,  _ motherfuck have we done a lot _. _

_ The stories didn't resonate with every troll. But that wasn't the Chimeric's objective; he only cared if at least one troll was persuaded. And Gamzee could feel that one was, because a lone psychic voice started to wonder,  _ what if I join them?

_ Lying beside his little bro, Gamzee chuckled. _

_ “What is it?” the Chimeric asked. _

_ “Your plan’s working.” _

_ “Which one? I have a multitude of plans.” _

_ “The plan to get some of those prisoner-trolls seeing things the way you want them to.” _

_ “Oh, is that my plan, then?” _

_ “I mean, motherfucker, unless it’s just a step of some other plan, it seems like a plan to me.” _

_ “I’m teasing. It is one of my plans. I just understand that the decalogue won’t open every mind. I have to find other reasons for them to want to stay.” He stretched his legs and rolled into a new position. “What made you say the plan is working?” _

_ “I can hear some of the hotblooded ones when they’re contemplating their terrors. They’re mostly afraid of what we’re gonna do to them, but one started getting curiosities on toward staying.” _

_ “This troll is scared to stay with us?” _

_ “Scared to leave hive and purpose and friendship, sure.” _

_ “Then yes, that’s the desired outcome. And if one of their number stands up and volunteers to stay, I’m sure others will follow suit.” _

_ “How many?” _

_ “Out of thirty? Maybe three. Four if we’re lucky.” _

_ Gamzee heard much more than four contemplating staying. Something like eight or nine had the idea cross their minds. He tapped the Chimeric’s shoulder and pointed them out, so the Chimeric went out of his way to encourage the captives’ new rebel friends to invite them to join the cause. As they approached shore, the Chimeric took a moment to make his proposal far more explicit. _

_ “We’re almost to a possible drop-off point, where all who wish to leave the rebellion may go. You can take all of your personal belongings, as much as you can carry, and we will lead you to the outer limits of the nearest settlement. I have confidence that the Compasse’s radiant bureaucracy will have no trouble transporting you back to your hives,” the Chimeric said. “We’ll be taking the ship and all of its cargo, and anyone who wants to join our way of life. Our next strike will be in Eastern Beforus, Usukatik, and we will continue our march to freedom.” _

_ Gamzee could feel which in the crowd wanted to stand up or step back. They were less polarized than Gamzee expected, with a number in the middle torn between leaving one life behind and starting another. _

_ “I truly have no investment in which way you choose. You may go back or you may go forward. Whatever you decide, understand that your choice is final. That is all.” _

_ When the time came, ten trolls officially stayed. A small band led by the Tameless went ashore, tracing their way to the nearest town on the Chimeric’s map. While they waited, the Seafarer had something to say. _

_ “You told them we’re goin’ to Usukatik. You know they could tell the authorities,” he reported, sour that apparently he had not been consulted before the announcement. _

_ “It’s a risk for sure,” the Chimeric answered. “I’m placing faith that, even though the departees don’t want to join us, they won’t allow their friends to come to ruin. And just like with your early days among our rebellion, it would be a greater liability to keep unwilling prisoners than release people able to aid our enemies.” _

_ The Seafarer didn’t look satisfied. “Maybe if we sailed a few extra miles, they’d be ‘persuaded.’” _

_ “It’s an unconventional tactic, but trust me for now. We’ll soon have a force large enough to require your traditional expertise.” _

_ The Tameless and her escort returned, but with another four trolls who changed their minds at the last minute and wanted to come back to the rebellion. The rebellion welcomed them with open arms. _

_ “I’m glad to see you again,” the Chimeric told them. “We have a lot of work to do.” _


	31. Elementary

No matter what Rose tried to remember in this dreambubble, all she could get were the shattered remnants of planets. Chunks of destroyed Battlefields from any number of sessions, remnants of Earth after the Reckoning, lands she recognized and lands she didn’t crumbled like cheese, gold and obsidian spires from Prospit and Derse floating in the abyss.

This had to be the worst date in all of paradox space.

“I’m so sorry, there has to be something more interesting around here somewhere,” Rose told Kanaya as she touched down on a chunk of a mysterious grassy mound to try and get her bearings.

“It’s fine, please don’t worry,” Kanaya replied, but this was the fourth time Rose had tried to reassure her that a more romantic memory would be just around the corner, and Rose could feel herself searching on borrowed time. Rose tried to remember home, sun shimmering on snowdrifts and the frozen waterfall running under the foundation, but couldn’t muster it. Kanaya took a turn to stand with her eyebrows scrunched together as she tried to bring forth a happy memory of her own, but nothing would emerge but ruins.

Rose couldn’t beat down the frustration rising in her chest. As opposed to numerous past escapades where had she made the improbable occur, this was a perfectly possible action that she could not execute.

“We have to be close. At least, in a statistical sense. Since physical space is more of a suggestion than a state of being…”

“I’m aware.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, an answer like that had to mean that Kanaya was losing patience with this. She’d rather go her own way and find anything else and Rose had just ruined _another_ date and Kanaya would run out of chances to give her and she’d fucking deserve it after she blew it the first time around with her _selfishness_ —

“This might not be your fault.”

Rose glanced at Kanaya, optimistic but not certain that her irritation and catastrophizing had stayed off her face. “What do you mean?”

“We know that some memories are produced or withheld from dreamers and ghosts based on the will of the horrorterrors. The most extreme example that comes to mind relates to the fabled hunt for Feferi’s dancestor who stayed hidden for functional-millennia.”

“Are you saying that the Gods are trying to send us somewhere?”

“Or they have elected to ensure we are not sent somewhere else.”

Rose hadn’t exactly _forgotten_ that was something that happened in the dreambubbles, but she certainly hadn’t been keeping that information in mind as she approached the challenge of finding an appropriate venue for her and Kanaya to entertain themselves in relative temporary privacy. At least hearing that Kanaya had come to her own conclusion that this wasn’t Rose’s fault made her feel better.

 _She’s so clever,_ Rose thought as she nodded at Kanaya’s point. Then she thought, _And she’s my girlfriend_. The ‘holy shit’ emotion that struck Rose every time she remembered that was starting to subside to manageable levels, but it still delighted her.

“I guess, twenty-four hours spent interpreting and following the will of the horrorterrors when I was thirteen felt like more than enough for an entire lifetime,” Rose said. “I would much rather extend two middle fingers to the Gods and go where I please.”

“I think that’s a common sentiment. I think most anyone who exists more-or-less in the dreambubbles encounters this situation at one time or another.”

Rose smiled a little. “But I swear, this never happens…”

“What’s so funny?”

“Trolls have no concept of erectile dysfunction, do they?”

“…Is this truly a conversation we should be having on our first date?”

“The details are not worth discussing, but it stems from the human cultural obsession with the male ability to mate at any time, which is hilarious. There’s an entire vernacular devoted to reassuring the poor gentlemen who find themselves in an inadequate state of arousal that they are still manly individuals.”

“Oh, trolls do have such a concept,” Kanaya said. “But there is usually no time for reassuring because an inability to mate at the appropriate moment is usually followed by a swift death.”

Rose’s smile broadened into a giggle. “Now _that_ is a consequence worth panicking about. Human men tend to just be preoccupied with being able to look their ‘bros’ in the face the next day.”

“And why exactly are you so knowledgeable about this subject?”

“The psychological roots of erectile dysfunction are a fascinating and mysterious subject, and especially amusing when viewed from a Freudian perspective.”

“Freudian?”

“A human psychologist whose main contribution to the field involved assuming everything is a penis until proven otherwise.”

“So… Dave.”

The laughter swelled beyond Rose’s ability to control it. “Yes! Yes, he’s exactly like Dave!”

“Dave is the only reason I know what any human genitalia looks like and the only example he has been willing to diagram is the human ‘dick.’ So I’ve resigned myself to assuming that all human genitalia is dicks.”

Rose opened her mouth, but shut it promptly. _The only reason this conversation didn’t tailspin is because of how patient and smart Kanaya is. Don’t push your luck._

“Anyway… You’re probably right that the horrorterrors are sending us somewhere, but I’m not inclined to follow them. I want this time to be about us, not about them.”

Kanaya pondered this a moment. “Is it possible for us to do what they want in an ‘about us’ kind of way?”

“Now that’s a fascinating proposal.”

“We could envision ourselves as a pair of matesprits attempting to solve a mystery laid out before us, since getting to the bottom of it appears to be key to us finding any peace,” Kanaya described. “Is there any human cultural analogue for such a scenario?”

“Not quite, but one of our most famous detective duos has a number of portrayals that include homoromantic undertones.”

“Who would that be?”

“Sherlock Holmes and Watson. Watson has a wife but she is largely discarded in adaptations in favor of the intense connection between Sherlock and Watson.”

“Wonderful—so which would you prefer to portray?”

Rose offered Kanaya a snarky bow with an ultimately sincere flourish. “Since you have made two brilliant deductions in as many minutes, I would be honored to serve as the Watson to your Sherlock.”

Kanaya curtsied back. “Thank you very much… But I am not good at roleplaying and will probably be even worse depicting a character I have never heard of before now.”

“You just need a hat and a pipe, and then be incredibly smart.”

“Um…”

Rose looked to the bubble around her and allowed her imagination to manifest some props on a nearby passing chunk of what looked to be LOHAC. “Here, take these.”

Kanaya took the iconic hunter’s hat, remarking on how dour and floppy it was but at least its lack of horn holes was not going to be a problem. Then she took the pipe and kind of held it in her hand a moment before bringing it to her mouth, but in a way that made it look like she was trying to drink from the bowl. After a few corrections to her technique, Kanaya Maryam stood tall and proud with a dignified pipe perched at her lips and a detective hat upon her head.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, but it’s a very attractive kind of ridiculous.” Rose watched a hint of green blush appear on Kanaya’s face. “The more important part is to be very smart. So it’s my job as Watson to ask, ‘Sherlock, oh Sherlock, how are we going to solve this mystery?’”

“Um…” Kanaya shed the imaginary props. “I think our first course of action should be to direct ourselves toward the epicenter of all this destruction.”

“What if no epicenter exists?”

“That probably won’t matter, since the horrorterrors are sending us somewhere and it seems to involve destroyed planets. They will lead us to whatever corner of the carnage they want us to find.”

“An excellent deduction.” Rose offered her arm to Kanaya. “Shall we?”

Kanaya accepted. “Yes, we shall.”

Rose floated along through the wreckage as Kanaya took the lead, pointing in which direction she thought the terrain looked ‘more wrecked’ than other places. Rose happily drifted along as Kanaya called the shots, satisfied that they might not have an environment in which to become lost in each others’ eyes or some other romantic trope, but working together like this, being close to her, and the knowledge Kanaya really didn’t need Rose to repent for her mistakes…

It was nice.

Under Kanaya’s leadership, Rose started to notice a few unique pieces of rubble showing up with increasing frequency. Licks of lava undulating in deep space without a planet to call their own, statues of denizens (Rose recognized Echidna, but not the serpentine being with a sun for a face) and pieces of shattered towers that resembled familiar homes. Then two planets came into view: LOLAR and LOFAF, smashed together like they had been thrown with the ease of baseballs.

“…Fuck,” Kanaya said quietly.

“I agree.” Rose suddenly felt that this idea to follow the will of the horrorterrors in a romantic way was doomed to fail from the start, no matter how many silly hats they tried to wear.

“What timeline is this? Is this the result of a fight with Lord English?”

Rose thought, and Light helped her. “No,” she answered. “I have a feeling that an encounter with him would have left absolutely nothing to be remembered in these bubbles.”

“So how did this happen?”

“We should probably get closer.”

Kanaya shifted from taking Rose’s arm to holding her hand. She couldn’t tell if Kanaya was scared or not. Actually, Rose couldn’t tell if she was scared either. She supposed if she were facing this alone she certainly would have been scared.

They moved toward the smashed planets, but as Rose tried to keep their course facing ‘true north,’ they kept slipping to the side, like a strange optical illusion. Instead, they moved closer and closer toward a clump of shining spires, now broken.

“Prospit,” Kanaya noted with sadness. “I don’t know why, but I feel certain that this incarnation of Prospit belongs to the session where those planets smashed together.”

“But how is that possible? That was my planet and Jade’s, and it was never Jack’s style to manipulate the orbit of planets. He would have just engulfed them in fire. And he never would have hurt Jade’s planet either…”

“Then there has to be some other explanation. I think the bubble is guiding us toward it, so it’s the right place to start.”

Figuring that Kanaya still held the role of Sherlock and since Rose didn’t have any better suggestions, they continued into the ruins of the golden planet. Kanaya pointed out a few distinguishable pieces of architecture and told small, sad stories about how she used to visit those features in her dreams, and how they were much lovelier when they weren’t destroyed. Rose just held her hand and hoped Kanaya found it comforting.

“Anything distinguishing?” Kanaya asked.

“Not yet. Yourself?”

“No. Maybe this is a dead end?”

“Why would we be led to a dead end? There has to be something here to find, something important—”

“Hey! You! You over there!”

Rose and Kanaya turned in the direction of the new voice, somewhere behind and above them relative to the wreckage. Rose couldn’t distinguish any features at first, but she could tell the figure lacked horns and sported a bright yellow outfit with a very conspicuous lack of pants.

“That works,” Rose muttered to Kanaya, who smiled a little.

The human boy drew closer, the pattern of his flight conveying to Rose that if he had been running on the ground, his stride would resemble wild flailing. His hair was dark, swooped to one side, and behind his square glasses, his eyes looked pure white. From various encounters with doomed Amporas, Tavroses, and Horusses, Rose recognized that she was speaking to a deceased Page of Hope.

“Hello,” Kanaya greeted. “Who might you be?”

“Chainsaw vampire alien lady!” the Page answered, jabbing his finger at Kanaya in a kind of blustery shock. “When I was in the dream, with Aranea, and Fish Hitler, and everyone was swinging weapons around, you were the glowing beskirted one with the preposterously heavy-looking chainsaw!”

Kanaya gaped at the ghost. Rose just smiled a little. “He’s not wrong,” she felt the need to point out.

“And—and you!” the Page turned his attention to Rose, his gestures continuing to reflect manic confusion. “The Roxy-looking girl! With the friends, codswallop, this was months ago, but you were both there! There in the dream! There was a fight and then the gray one shouted a lot and stalked off and then—”

“Calm down,” Rose reached out her hands. “We have no idea what you’re talking about, and we can’t get to the bottom of this unless we can understand you. Just take a deep breath.”

The Page looked distressed for a moment more, before he sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly. “Sorry,” he said. “Just, I know I’m dead, and Jane was with me for a moment, but we decided to split up so we could cover more ground, and find out what might have happened to our friends…”

“Please accept my condolences on your demise,” Rose said. “We’ve actually heard of Jane, but haven’t found her yet. My name is Rose, and this is Kanaya. What’s your name?”

He sniffed. “Jake. Jake English.”

Rose smiled. “Wonderful. We’ve heard of you, too.”

“Wait… really?” Jake said. “Did my grandma tell you about me? I thought it was important that we kept our correspondence completely clandestine.”

“Jade wasn’t the one to tell us about you. These dreambubbles are a patchwork of memories, and we’ve managed to find a few concerning you.” Rose decided to leave out that they had first heard his name in a memory where his guardian had died. He seemed distressed enough already.

“I suppose that’s a sensible explanation,” he said. “But your eyes don’t look ghostly, like everyone else’s.”

“That’s right. We are living dreamers, traveling to your session. We’re still a little less than a year away from arriving.”

“Sorry, how can that be? You were already there…”

Rose waved a hand. “Time shenanigans. Don’t worry about it.”

“Easier said than done.” Jake’s eyebrows scrunched together. “I suppose someone a few scrapes smarter than I would grasp that in a jiffy, but I think I was always the dunce of the group. I just got by trusting things were true rather than understanding why they were.”

“There’s no need for everyone to understand everything, and holes in knowledge are not a reflection on your mental aptitude,” Rose reassured him, but his own analysis of his abilities made Rose want to ask what formative memories, from his childhood or otherwise, made him believe he wasn’t smart. “I’m afraid our time might be limited here. As dreamers, our presence is dependent on how long we spend asleep, and if anything wakes us our conversation will be cut short.”

“Right, yes! I remember how that works, from when I was the dreamer and other people were the ghosts.”

“Do you know what happened here?” Rose asked.

He ran a hand through his hair and turned his head to the carnage around him. “Cheese and fucking crackers, what _didn’t_ happen here? Grandma showed up, and so I think that means her brother and their friends did too, and some trolls, and the Batterwitch, and Aranea, and then she tried to kiss me, but that was after Jane tried, but I was in jail at the time, because Jane dragged me there, and that was on the orders of the Baroness…”

“Excuse me, your testimony became incomprehensible after you said ‘Batterwitch.’” Kanaya interrupted, saving Rose from having to say something similar.

“Oh… sorry I’m still so discombobulated. Everything happened so fast, and across even more planets than usual.”

“Maybe we can start with a simpler question,” Rose said. “It appears that you’re a god tier.”

Jake kind of pressed his knees closer together, like that could somehow hide some of his exposed legs. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Cool. I’m a god tier because I was standing on my Dersite crypt bed when a cancerous tumor exploded and created the largest sun in all of paradox space.”

His jaw dropped. “Sounds… dandy?!”

“How did you become a god tier?” Rose turned around, hoping that Jake could follow the pattern of her story and abbreviate his ascension.

He thought for a moment before responding. “I was recovering from a splitting hangover on my crypt bed when a gentleman with laser eyes exploded the moon.”

Rose nodded. “Cool.”

“Maybe. It did us a fat lot of nothing in the end. Jane’s Lifey thing couldn’t stop the Baroness from controlling her, Roxy’s powers didn’t let her escape, I haven’t the foggiest where Dirk ended up, even if he could have done something. And even after Aranea supposedly healed the fissures in my brain to give me access to my untapped potential all I did was glow a lot and then burn out. And then everyone died.”

“Everyone?” Kanaya repeated.

“I think so? I think I died pretty early on, but there were a multitude of parties bent on killing each other for various reasons. Like the festive jester brutalizing the masked bandit and a sleeping Jane still somehow engaged in fisticuffs against Aranea, and that’s still all before the Batterwitch actually arrived on her great big spaceship…”

“Can we confirm that this Batterwitch is who I fear she is?” Kanaya asked. “You also referred to who I presume is the same individual as the Baroness.”

“Ah, right! Um. Dirk told me she’s the troll empress, so I think that makes her the Condesce. She raised my grandma and then took over the Earth and melted the ice caps and killed Dirk’s bro and Roxy’s mom.”

Kanaya nodded with solemn fear.

Mental gears that Rose had wanted to stay still clicked together. “Roxy’s mom, that would be my post-Scratch self, I assume?”

“I’m not clear on what a Scratch is supposed to be, but given I met my young Grandma from the past or maybe an alternate universe, then I presume you’re Roxy’s young mom.”

Rose glanced at Kanaya, a kind of want in her eyes. She had already more or less realized this was the worst date ever, focused very little on the connection between the two of them and instead distracted by one tragedy after another.

But Kanaya nodded. She understood.

Rose gave her a small, thankful smile, before she turned back to Jake. “Maybe we should find a place to sit,” Rose said. “I have a lot of questions about Roxy. And maybe once those are answered, I’ll be able to help you find your friends.”

Jake fidgeted with his fingers. “A capital idea. Pick the place and I’ll try and help best I can.”


	32. Holding Hostages

“…They want you to be on the team again.” Karkat offered his most encouraging smile, which he feared looked too fake, like an over-earnest grimace. “It’s just a few minutes, maybe an hour tops, of doing what they want and then you can move out of the vents and be friends with everyone again. They ready to forgive you for everything.”

Gamzee wasn’t meeting Karkat’s eyes as he recounted the team meeting and the prospect of redemption in the eyes of the rest of the team. What was he thinking? Karkat was supposedly his moirail, his little bro, and he never had any clue what was on Gamzee’s mind. It was like staring into dark water and trying to count black fish.

“They sounded really sincere. Like, I have never heard Vriska or Terezi sound so straight-up about something. Even the humans, they don’t know you as well, and they were convinced to give you a chance. It’s just a little bit of time with no paint, saying you want the new universe to be peaceful, and then boom!”

He still wouldn’t say anything, so Karkat reached out to brush some of Gamzee’s hair away from his paint. As he lifted his hand, Gamzee’s moved faster, snatching Karkat’s wrist in a vice grip. Karkat flinched, and a moment later, Gamzee released it.

“I don’t mean to be all motherfucking jittery,” Gamzee explained. “But all these words and speeches, it feels like they’re setting up some kind of motherfucking trap.”

“It’s not a trap! I was there when they discussed the plan. What was the phrase she used, something like, making sure you were on the side of ‘make a new universe,’ and that was it.”

“You weren’t there for the  _ whole _ time. What if those motherfuckers made their plan, and then just wanted you to  _ think _ it was an honest motherfucking shot at the wicked redemptions, to draw me out?”

“I…” Karkat wanted to say with certainty that couldn’t have happened, but what evidence did he have? He had spent hours away from them in the vents, they could have concocted a Troll Rube Goldberg machine for the express purpose of capturing and torturing Gamzee and Karkat would never have known. “Maybe… maybe we need to calm down first, Gamzee, it feels like you’re coming to all the most paranoid conclusions. I’m your moirail, and I need you to trust me.”

“You’re the one who just called me paranoid!” Gamzee covered his cheeks with his own hands, pulling on the flesh and stretching the scars. “When all those shadows started closing in, and I was acting like a motherfucking monster, I got myself free of it and then got tossed right back into the motherfucking torment wheel with the spiderbitch and her lackeylacerator, bringing worse terrors onto my fucking existence, forcing me into these vents, making me feel like a motherfucking animal—”

“Gamzee, shhh, shhh!” Karkat tried to scoot closer to Gamzee, keeping his hands back for now. He had learned his lesson against touching him. “I’m on your side here! I can help you! I’ll protect you against them, I promise!”

“What the motherfuck do you expect to do against them?” Gamzee groaned.

“Anything I have to! But they’ll have to shred me to pieces before I let them harm a single cranium follicle!” Karkat kept his hands at a distance, but let Gamzee see his flat, open palms. “We can do this. You and I can meet up before their trial. I’ll walk with you, stand by you, make sure anyone who wants to get the jump on you has to go through me first. And when we get there—because it’s not a trap—if anyone tries to accuse you of things that weren’t your fault, I’ll tell them how fucking wrong they are using every profanity my vocabulary has to offer. I am prepared to get disgustingly Kankri-esque on their asses in defense of you, and I won’t let them ask for anything unfair.”

“Is that really going to be enough?”

“How about this.  _ They  _ have to apologize for everything they did to  _ you _ before I will allow them to even offer you a face sponge.”

For the first time since Karkat returned to the vents, Gamzee cracked a small, hopeful smile. “Thanks, little bro,” he said, and finally bent his head forward until his cheek touched Karkat’s palm. Satisfied he had permission to touch, Karkat eased closer to him as Gamzee encircled his arms around Karkat’s waist again. So Karkat wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, apparently.

“What are moirails for?” Karkat said, patting the side of his face. “So you’re going to go?”

“Yeah, you got your persuasions at me deep in my pusher. You’re definitely the greatest motherfucker I could have asked for, in a pale way,” Gamzee confided. “It’s just such a miracle that we ended up being like this, y’know? It’s something that I just  _ understand _ .”

“Glad you understand. I just saw a friend who shouldn’t be hurting.”

“Nah, little bro, I think I got a theory for explicating all these feelings we keep sharing with each other.” With the arms wrapped around him, Gamzee started to rub Karkat’s back a bit.

“Predestination?” Karkat answered with a snort. “I almost wish you  _ were _ there when the Seafarer started spewing shit about pale serendipity between us.”

“Believe me, I wish I can treat you half as good as the Mournful treated his little motherfucker. But this got nothing to do with the past, this is all about who we are now, from Alternia, and the game, and the meteor, and all of it. I think it’s why this pale thing we started up is so good.”

“Tell me already, you busted honk horn.”

Gamzee turned his face up to look at Karkat, a little smirk on his lips. “We’re both the most disgraceful of fuck-ups.”

Karkat’s breath froze in his chest. “…What do you mean by that?”

“You’re the only motherfucker on this supersonic flying rock that understands how much of a failure I am. And I got my understand on to how you’re a total failure, too.”

Great, now his eyes felt like they were burning. “Gamzee, there’s got to be reasons other than that.”

“Maybe in a superficiality sense, but we got so much in common with our fuck-ups. I did the sopor thing, couldn’t handle quitting it, busted a few skulls. And you couldn’t get people to listen to you, and when they did, what you told them to do just made things worse. I’m just telling you what you asked me to.”

“I mean it, I—sure, it can be true, but I spend enough of my time thinking about all the mistakes I made. I don’t want to hear them here.”

“What do you want me to do, little bro? Lie to you? Moirails got to be getting their truest of honesties on with each other when they’re in the pile like us motherfuckers are. I know what it’s like to know you got blood on your hands from friends getting their rage on at each other, and when everything you wanted to do blows up in your motherfucking face, and for everyone you ever felt love at to hate you.”

“N-No one hates me. I mean, I hate me, but that’s basically a joke at this point…”

“Little bro,” Gamzee shifted his body around, bringing his face closer to Karkat’s. “My nubby little mutant bro. I think the real joke here is that you think anyone else on this rock-boat still likes you. Terezi’s over you. Vriska’s usurped you. Dave wants to feel superior to you. Since you didn’t stop Eridan, Kanaya thinks its your fault the matriorb got destroyed. And Rose never gave a shit about you in the first place. And you want me to lie to you and say these motherfuckers  _ don’t _ think you’re a fuck-up?”

Karkat opened his mouth, but all that came out was a choked sob. The heat in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. He didn’t want it to be true, it couldn’t be, but every answer he could use to refute Gamzee just flipped on its head when he tried to think about it.

“Aww, shhhh…” Gamzee kept one arm strong around Karkat’s waist and lifted the other to wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry if the truth hurts, my little bro. But I understand, motherfucker. My life is a total fuck-up too. You’re in good company. I know how to take care of this for you…”

Karkat felt one of Gamzee’s hands press against his forehead, a familiar cue to lie back and let Gamzee embrace him. He resisted for a moment, wishing he could curl up in a ball and cry it out on his own, but in the end, he relented. Gamzee wrapped his lean body around Karkat’s and whispered shooshes into his ear. Strangely, even as his body started to calm, his blood pusher stayed beating fast and painful.

The most disgraceful of fuck-ups, Gamzee said they were. Well, at least Karkat was a fuck up with a moirail.

 

* * *

 

_ Terezi waited in the small municipal structure’s meeting room and tried not to yawn. The news that refugees from a Chimeric attack had been found had come barely twelve hours ago, and then the sleepless whirlwind of imperial fast-travel had brought her and Prospera here with barely a minute set aside for them to deposit their luggage at a temporary hive. They needed to question the recovered survivors and see if they knew anything about the Chimeric’s plans or movements, but Terezi couldn’t get started on that yet.  _ Someone _ had decided the need for a beverage was greater than the need for swift justice.  _

_ Tardiness could be an effective interrogation technique, but these witnesses were not being left in cold, isolated rooms to reflect on their mistakes, they were being wrapped in blankets and patted on the head, reassured that they had nothing to fear. And what was Terezi supposed to do while she waited for Prospera? She could try and read the profiles given to her in folders upon arrival, but she didn’t have the privacy necessary to lean down and lick the longer, more detailed descriptions. Prospera stood between Terezi and critical information and it made her blood start to boil. _

I need you to play this game!

_ Prospera eventually strolled in with two paper cups of steaming stimulant beverage. She casually set one of the cups down in front of Terezi, and its sharp, earthy scent blurred her sense of the rest of the room. _

_ “You’re welcome,” Prospera taunted. _

_ “I didn’t ask for this. And I would have appreciated punctuality more.” _

_ “I was—” _

_ “Making a tactical decision to keep our suspects in suspense before interrogating them. And  _ I  _ say that tactic is only effective when we are here to coordinate on it!” _

_ Prospera clicked her tongue. “Who spat in your recuperacoon?” _

_ “I haven’t  _ seen _ a recuperacoon all day, thanks. We have work to do, and more importantly, a game to play.” Terezi pushed the profiles toward Prospera. “Time to prove that you know how to speed-read.” _

_ “You relentless bureaucrat,” Prospera grumbled, but she slid the files closer to her in order to read. In the meantime, Terezi sipped the warm beverage Prospera had brought. Now that she knew her partner’s location, it was a lot easier to enjoy the warmth and flavor of it without stress. Maybe Prospera had the right instinct after all.  _

_ “We should call in Shipmate Chestnut first,” Prospera announced, referring to one of the profiles. “Her given statement is lightest on details, and she should be easy to manipulate into confessing.” _

_ “Confessing to what?” _

_ “Why, everything, my dear Vigilant. She’s never been on a voyage more difficult than routine cargo shipments in the calm seasons and has never stepped a single toe out of line. If we keep insisting she knows more than she said, and make it clear what consequences await her, she’ll spill everything.” _

_ “What if she doesn’t actually know anything we need?” _

_ “Then she’ll be sure to tell us who does. Just follow my lead. Use all the logic you have in your pan to support my side of the argument and watch her crumble.” _

_ In Terezi’s opinion, this plan was cavalier, juvenile, and arrogant, all words that she would dearly love to use in place of Prospera’s title at that given moment. But, she could not claim the plan wouldn’t be effective, and she wanted to be done with this. “Fine. I’ll call her in.” _

_ Shipmate Chestnut was short and stocky, with very mild horns in an inoffensive curl. She had shoulder-length hair with the tips bleached and dyed with rich, pungent brown, matching her eyes. She had an emergency blanket around her shoulders and a pronounced pout. She took her seat behind one side of the table, while Terezi and Prospera sat on the other. _

_ “Esteemed Chestnut, a pleasure to meet you. I am the Vigilant Prospera, and this is my junior, Vigilant Lawscale.” Terezi suppressed a twitch in her face, wishing she could slap Prospera for pretending to be a Vigilant—for a second time.  _ And my  _ senior! _

_ “Hello,” Chestnut said quietly. _

_ “You’re quite a ways off course, aren’t you?” Prospera continued. _

_ “Well, this is where the rebels put us, so…” _

_ “And it’s where you need to be. Very clever of him, really.” _

_ Chestnut already looked confused. “Sorry, what?” _

_ “It’s pretty obvious, honestly, and you’re not fooling aaaaaaaanyone. This is an ideological war, so sleeper agents are a natural weapon.” _

_ “Sleeper agents?! I’m not a sleeper agent!” _

_ Terezi decided to jump in, following Prospera’s lead. “I’m afraid it’s the only logical conclusion. The Chimeric can’t risk letting anyone opposed to his cause go. The only reason you’re here and not one of his prisoners is because you’re actually on his side.” _

_ “No, that’s not it! He let us go, he said he had to! We’d be—we’d be liabullies if he kept people around who aren’t committed to his cause! Anyone who wanted to go was allowed to go!” _

_ Prospera clicked her tongue. “I bet the reinforcementers ate that right up, didn’t they?” _

_ “It’s true!” _

_ “Okay then, riddle me this: why didn’t you stay when half the crew did?” _

_ Chestnut made a few false starts to her confession. “They’re just… they’re insane! I couldn’t handle it! I couldn’t understand! They’re lawless, thieves and killers, and I couldn’t forget everything they had done. When I closed my eyes, I saw that picture from the newsfeeds of Guardian Stalwart’s memorial… and the wanted posters… I wanted my life to make sense again. I wanted my hive, I wanted my lusus, I wanted my culler…” _

_ Prospera made a show of humming in contemplation. “I don’t know… Lawscale, what’s your take on this sorry display?” _

_ Of course, there was no way this troll was a sleeper agent, both for her history and demeanor, and because Terezi trusted Prospera had already given her mind a cursory probe, enough to tell for sure if she was lying. “I think we should give her a chance to collaborate,” Terezi said neutrally. _

_ “You hear that? You can collaborate with us. Isn’t that merciful of us?” _

_ Chestnut hiccuped, tears surely brimming in her eyes. “I… I thought Vigilants  _ had _ to be merciful…” _

_ “You thought wrong, Shipmate. Mercy is nowhere in the job description.” Prospera sounded like a deadly predator sizing up her meal. It was a good thing Terezi knew rainbow drinkers were fake, like made-up fairies, because in all other ways Prospera acted the part.  _

_ “I’ll ask the questions for now,” Terezi jumped in, thinking it was time for a little bit of balanced mediation. “Now, do you know where the rebels are going next?” _

_ “I—I don’t.” _

_ “Did they share any information about their goals?” _

_ “Recruitment…” _

_ “Do they have plans to attack anyone else?” _

_ “Nothing… concrete?” _

_ “You sound unsure.” _

_ “I mean, they’ve attacked before, so they’ll probably attack again.” _

_ “Did you see any evidence that they are well-armed?” _

_ “Yes, oh, Mother almighty, they have  _ so _ many weapons! more implements of harm than I ever imagined existed on Beforus!” _

_ Prospera snarked, “You have quite the feeble imagination.” _

_ “Now Prospera, it’s not her fault,” Terezi said before Chestnut could respond to the insult. “She hasn’t spent decades hunting the worst criminals trollkind has to offer like you have.” _

_ Now Prospera turned Terezi’s way, and she felt the glare burn on her face like the sun.  _ Worth it.

_ “I want to be helpful, I really do, but I mostly just want to go back home…” Chestnut said. _

_ “I know, and believe me, we want to let you go as soon as we can. But we have to make absolutely sure that we learn everything we can from you before we let you go.” Terezi leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. “Now, I am inclined to believe you are not a sleeper agent, but I still think you’re withholding information from us.” _

_ “I’m not!” _

_ “Again, your assertion is unconvincing. I’d like to ask a different question: you reported that the Chimeric allowed all who wanted to leave to leave, but I’m wondering, did he keep anyone behind? Someone who he would harm if you were honest with us?” _

_ Terezi could smell the anxiety on Chestnut’s face, a sour, sweaty odor. “No, I mean… no.” _

_ “What do you mean, no?” Prospera pushed. _

_ Chestnut held back for a second more. “He wasn’t holding anyone captive… Look, I kept this out of my report to the reinforcementers, because I didn’t want this to be true, but… the  _ Seafarer _ isn’t a prisoner! He’s the Chimeric’s ally!” _

_ “We know,” Terezi said. _

_ Chestnut choked on her dramatic confession. “What?!” _

_ “We know,” Prospera repeated, flipping some hair over her shoulder. “In fact, we discovered that, and already reported his defection to the Compasse, who is strategizing accordingly..” _

_ Terezi wanted to pause and ask Prospera why she allowed Terezi to have a part of the credit, but now was not the time. “A quick analysis of weapons used at the data compound attack proved it.” _

_ “Would you like to tell us something we don’t know?” Prospera taunted. _

_ Now Chestnut started to cry, vivid streaks of brown dripping from her eyes. “I don’t know anything! I don’t know why he stayed! He tried to explain it but I couldn’t, I didn’t get it, and I tried to talk sense into him, but I couldn’t!” _

_ “Who is ‘he?’” Terezi asked. _

_ “Dogtooth, he wouldn’t—he’s one of them now, he said he wants to ‘live free,’ but he’s going to get hurt out there! He could die and then it won't matter if he’s free or not because he’ll be  _ dead _!” Her voice trailed off into more sobs. Terezi reached a hand across the table until she could pat Chestnut’s arm. _

_ “There there,” she said. “I know it hurts to see someone close to you take a different path.” _

_ Chestnut sniffed. “You do…?” _

_ “I do.” It was something of an exaggeration, since Twinhorn hadn’t become a crazed renegade, but Terezi still knew that disappointment, that fear that the gulf between them would grow and she wouldn’t be there for him him if he needed her. “I think you’re holding back something you know to try and protect him. Is that right?” _

_ “I just… don’t want there to be any more fighting.” Chestnut’s voice cracked as she spoke. “It’s not even like we need to rescue the Seafarer anymore, why can’t we just… let the crazy ones go and do what they want, and they can leave the rest of us alone?” _

_ “That’s just something we can’t allow. Some of their number have committed crimes and they must be brought to justice.” _

_ “But if I tell you where they’re going… then Dogtooth is going to fight. He’s wrong, but he’ll fight, and he might hurt someone… or get hurt…” _

_ “That’s quite the noble story you have there, Esteemed Shipmate,” Prospera cut in. “But you’ve now confessed that you do know where they’re going, and you’re withholding evidence. You should be less afraid of what’s going to happen to Dogtooth and more afraid of what’s going to happen to you.” _

_ Chestnut sobbed harder, unable to answer. _

_ “If you tell us where he’s going, we can save him,” Terezi insisted. “We can end this rebellion and make everyone safe again.” _

_ While the troll cried, Terezi tilted her face toward Prospera. Even unable to see her directly, she knew the blueblood understood Terezi’s signal.  _ Say no more. Let her crack.

_ It took a few minutes for Chestnut to stop crying. Terezi counted the seconds with her own heartbeat as the timer. _

_ “…Usukatik. In Eastern Beforus.” Chestnut wiped her nose and eyes with the blanket. “They’re going there next. More recruiting.” _

_ “Thank you, Chestnut,” Terezi said. “You’ve done the right thing.” _

_ “We can send her out now, right?” Prospera asked, sounding more bored now that the game of ‘psychologically traumatize the warmblood’ was over. _

_ “Yes. You are dismissed.” Chestnut shakily stood, and so did Terezi. “Hang on. But if you ever need me, I want you to call.” _

_ “What?” Chestnut and Prospera both spoke, and both sounded confused. _

_ “Prospera, get her a pen and paper. I want her to have my contact number. If there’s anything you need, just call me.” _

_ Still suspicious, Prospera cooperated, and Chestnut wrote down Terezi’s contact number before they showed her out of the meeting room. The instant the door closed, Prospera asked, “What was that for?” _

_ “In case she remembers anything else about where the Chimeric is going,” Terezi lied. She got a feeling Prospera knew it was a lie, but it went unchallenged. _


	33. Spatial Awareness

“…That’s quite the tale of adventure,” the ghost of Jake English said. “I knew my grandma had died, but I thought it was an animal. The holes in her… those were from a trident.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose on his ghostly three-quarter sleeve. “At least it sounds like she died a hero. And it makes sense from all the other stuff I heard about the human resistance against the Batterwitch.”

“And it makes sense to us that you would have the name ‘English’ if the Condesce serves Lord English, and Jade wanted to strike back against her adoptive mother,” Rose said, but it sounded more like she wanted to keep the wheels of this conversation greased with positive reassurances. At least, that’s the feeling Kanaya got. She remembered Rose speaking in that same calm tone to other frazzled boys, namely Dave and Karkat. 

“Yeah… though I’m not sure what I'd do if I met her ghost here. I imagine she’d feel dreadfully disappointed in me.”

“Why?”

“For not figuring out how to do the hope thing on my own, or for not realizing what my friends wanted from me and instead just turning into a flipping doormat…”

Kanaya spoke up. “I highly doubt that any incarnation of Jade would be disappointed in you for your efforts, especially given all of the disadvantages that you had been forced to cope with including but not limited to her absence from your wigglerhood.”

“But she left me all sorts of technological doodads, and my collection of firearms!”

“Jake, it’s okay,” Rose said. “We’ve had the pleasure of meeting a great multitude of other players of this game through the dreambubbles. There are some who did more with less, and others who had more and did less. And while this is a game, the only true enemies here are the ones who oppose our victory. We aren’t in competition with each other. And as a ghost, you can consider yourself absolved of any responsibility to keep trying.”

“Because I’m a doomed ghost, right?” Jake frowned at his yellow-clad feet. And Kanaya thought that the color scheme for Light players was glaring. “I didn’t feel doomed, though. When I was alive.”

“Doomed timelines are quite tricky to navigate, and I don’t think that’s meant to be your forté in the first place. But suffice it to say that we know of a series of altered events in the past meant to ensure that versions of you and all of your friends are alive and well, and still awaiting our arrival.” Rose patted Jake on the shoulder. “What we would  _ actually _ like to know more about is the conditions under which the Batterwitch began her revolution among your party. We heard she had ‘control’ of Jane?”

Jake shuddered. “I… do you mind if I not say much regarding that particular calamity?”

“I’ll do my best not to pry, but we’d like to know as much as we can about how the Batterwitch controlled her so that we can put a stop to it before it begins.”

He nodded, then gestured to his head. “It was her tiaratop. A brain-meldy computer. It felt like a smaller and snazzier version of my old skulltop, but since it was a CrockerCorp product, the Batterwitch had her fingerprints all over it. Jade rescued us from the laser-eye fellow, but then turned very grim and started barking and used some flash of light to snap that tiara on Jane’s head. Then they both started acting like proper villains.”

Rose nodded along, keeping her chronicle stowed and evidently choosing to just listen to Jake for now. Kanaya thought back to conversations she had with Jade, about frog breeding and responsibility and doing the impossible. Jade had always been so powerful, not just due to her literal abilities, but also to her optimistic spirit. After all, she decided she would transport four lands and a Battlefield to a whole new session without any knowledge that she would soon gain the power to shrink anything of any size. Kanaya sort of had a feeling that the Condesce had done her research in turn, and already decided who would be the greatest threats and greatest assets in the final fight.

“Do you know anything about how the Batterwitch controlled Jade?” Rose stayed on topic.

“Not sure. I think Jane knew, actually. Like the Witch knew what a humdinger of a problem solver Jane could be, so she clued Jane into the evil plan while letting her make a lot of her own choices. So long as whatever Jane eventually decided to do benefitted the Batterwitch.”

“What about the rest of your friends?”

“Roxy and Dirk? Um…” Jake scratched his head. “I know Roxy went to jail, like me, but Grandma—erm, Jade mostly dealt with her. And I didn’t see Dirk again, if we’re not counting Brain Ghost Dirk.”

“Brain ghost?” Rose repeated, one of her eyebrows raising.

“Ugh, I can’t even explain how that happened. What with all the false doppelgangers Dirk had running around, I thought of him as one of Dirk’s splinters, and then Aranea theorized he might be one of my latent connections to Hope. Maybe like in the Star Wars movies when Luke Skywalker spoke to the ghost of his old mentor, who was one with the Force at the time.”

“Rose, please tell me that makes sense,” Kanaya asked.

“You haven’t seen Star Wars?” Jake turned to Kanaya, his wide, white eyes showing some excitement for once. “Oh, they’re fantastic! Six whole movies of magnificent space adventures, each one more stellar than the last! And those prequels, did such a good job of answering all those lingering questions! And those incredible pod-racing scenes—”

“We’ll come back to Star Wars some other time,” Rose said. “Kanaya has a lot of human culture to learn about, as I do with trolls, but I will be sure to move George Lucas’s works to the top of the list. I want to cover all the topics that you are qualified to describe before Kanaya and I wake, so that we can hopefully help you in turn.”

“Ah, fuckersticks, sorry for getting distracted. It just feels like it’s been ages since I got to enjoy anything as uncomplicated as a good movie.” 

“I would consider our predicament to be reversed,” Kanaya said. “Since we have spent nearly three human years on a desolate meteor with little to do but read or watch movies or hassle each other for entertainment.”

“So all your questions about how things fell apart in my timeline, is that what counts as entertainment now?” Jake looked a little pensive. “Actually, my friends have done far worse and weirder things in the name of entertainment.”

Rose had just made a comment about staying on topic, but Kanaya’s curiosity wouldn’t let her leave this behind. “Such as what?”

“Dirk programmed an artificial intelligence based on his own brain which lived in his shades and mostly buggered the rest of us by pretending to be him,” Jake answered. “And Roxy… well, she was fond of martinis.”

“Martinis?”

“The beverage of choice for my mother,” Rose filled her in, and Kanaya understood.

“Don’t hold it against her! She sobered up when we got into the game!” Jake said, defending his friend. “We had a real devil of a time entering the incipisphere, and once we were there and we realized our promised lands of whimsy and adventure were just massive graveyards of desolation, Roxy kept the stiffest upper lip of all. She had more reason to drink than ever before, but instead she kicked her alcohol habit right in the tuckus! She saw a problem in her life and overcame it, which is more than can be said for the rest of us. She soldiered on like a hero. The  _ real _ kind of hero.”

Jake stopped talking for a minute, grief etched on his forehead. Kanaya glanced at Rose and saw a tremendously similar expression on her face too. After a deep breath, Jake continued. “I think you’d be proud of her. Or, actually, once we find her ghost, you’ll be proud of her.”

Rose dropped her gaze to her lap. “Whether I find her or not, even if only a fraction of what you’ve said is true, I’m already proud of her,” she answered.

“We are still approaching a point in the restored timeline where we may have the opportunity to alter the events that lead to the massacre,” Kanaya said. “Roxy will be alive once again and we can fight to keep her that way.”

“That’s something of a relief,” Jake said. “I think that’s all that I have the knowledge or courage to speak to you about, but if you can find Jane’s ghost, she’ll know more about the Batterwitch’s evil scheme. And I can promise you that ghost-Jane is back to her old self, so there’s no need to worry about that.”

“That’s very reassuring, thank you.” Kanaya stood up on the chunk of rock and dusted her skirt off a bit. “I think we still have enough time to assist you in your search for your other friends, or at least help you cross paths with other ghosts who may be able to orient you to the concept of death.”

“Thank you.” Jake stood up as well, and Rose lifted herself into the air last. “I’m just still beside myself with what might have happened to everyone else following that riot of a battle.”

“Regardless of who you find, I am very certain that you will be in good company.” Kanaya looked to Rose for a little assistance with flying, which Rose provided with an extended hand and no word. Hoping to keep an awkward silence at bay, Kanaya took the plunge and asked, “In the meantime could you tell me more about these wars of stars?”

Jake’s ghostly face lit up as he started recounting events that happened many years ago in a galaxy far, far away, where a farm boy longed for adventure, caught the attention of evil authorities, ran away with a wise and mysterious old man who was actually a magical space knight, and rescued a princess who turned out to be his sister and also flew a spaceship to blow up a star. The whole thing sounded supremely stupid, though Kanaya kind of wanted to know more about lightsabers and if it would be possible to alchemize one. Perhaps it could be improved when combined with a chainsaw…

The dreamscape around them still featured distressing amounts of planetary carnage, but some of the pieces of Prospit were starting to combine into something more structurally sound. Jake continued describing the extra movies they made to show off how the bad guy from the first movies was actually a fallen good guy, but even Kanaya could see some wistful curiosity in his face as he examined the golden spires. She missed Prospit’s Skaia-lit moon, too.

Against the uniform yellow structures, a few shapes stood out in the streets. They looked like trolls, but dressed more strangely than Kanaya usually saw them: Sollux in Dersite pajamas, Rufioh in a smart black suit with a domino mask and cape, a few robotic Aradias, and Tavros in a little hat, green vest, and tiny shorts, though Jake’s own garments took the prize for smallest trousers.

“Hey, Kanaya! Rose!” Tavros waved at them, before telling his own spectral companions, “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

“You’re looking well, Tavros,” Kanaya said as Rose drifted down and Jake followed.

“Oh, most certainly, it’s pretty obvious to all observers, that being dead suits me, kinda well,” Tavros said, his halting stammer carrying a breathless excitement that Kanaya had never heard before. Perhaps death did suit him well.

“Have you been keeping busy?”

“In a way, I have,” Tavros said. “I mean, I’m not one, to brag about my accomplishments, or even label things that I’ve done as accomplishments, but I feel extremely confident that the thing I’m doing now, is the best thing to be doing.”

“And what precisely are you doing?” Rose spoke up.

Tavros smiled at her. “Making friends, mostly.” Then, he turned to Jake. “And I don’t think I’ve met you, so I don’t mean to be rude, but hi! I’m Tavros.”

“Oh… bully to meet you,” Jake said, much shyer than Kanaya would have thought based on the blustery bravado he had shown when greeting them before. Or was that just because he had a concept of who Rose and Kanaya were, and Tavros was a total stranger?

“He’s a bit new to this ghostly existence, and actually searching for a few of his formerly-living friends,” Rose continued.

“Oh man, that’s really, not that much of a coincidence, since I think a lot of people in these bubbles, are searching for others,” Tavros said. “But I’ve got something of a, sizeable gathering, a bubble or two away, so maybe some of your friends are there?”

Jake looked a little daunted at the offer, but he nodded. “If it turns out Dirk and Roxy aren’t there, I can’t see myself staying long, but… I’ve got a feeling that accepting this invitation is the right thing to do.”

“We’d be, happy to have you!” Tavros beamed. “And, this one’s a real coincidence, but I was a Page too!”

“Really?”

Kanaya looked at Rose, who seemed strangely lost compared to the confidence she'd had  interrogating Jake about the enemies that had killed him and his friends. “We should leave them to it,” Kanaya suggested, touching Rose’s arm.

“Right… of course.”

They bid a few farewells and left Jake in Tavros’s care, turning around and taking this chance to walk through Prospit’s golden spires, most of them intact but with a number of shattered towers floating in the ‘sky’ above that.

“I understand you may hold a greater affinity for Derse, but I think we are in agreement that carapacian architecture is gorgeous,” Kanaya said.

“You would be correct.”

“…Is this about your mother?”

“Kind of. It’s not like I forget that arriving in the new session will present us with an opportunity to meet, but Jake…” Kanaya decided to let Rose choose her own words to finish that thought. “He reminded me… how young she’s going to be.”

“She’ll be the same age as you, right?”

“Exactly. She’ll be young. And it sounds like she’s already… made a lot of the same mistakes as me.”

Kanaya took hold of Rose’s hand, just to hold it. She liked that that was a thing she could just  _ do _ now. “Then we can help her correct them too. You think highly of your mother, so there’s a chance that she holds a similar opinion of you.”

Rose gripped Kanaya’s hand back, a quick squeeze saying more than words could, and then let it hang comfortably between them. “Prospit really is pretty.”

“I greatly enjoyed dreaming there.”

“I wonder if things would have been different if I had awoken on the moon early, like you or Jade. Most of my recollections of time spent on Derse came from memories of my doomed self. Dave and I had a dance party once, but that was the extent of our truly frivolous shenanigans. And though Derse is functionally identical, it never had the same majesty. The darkness made it look imposing.”

“It’s an image Dersites are careful to cultivate.”

“Were. Or are you thinking in the abstract, including all incarnations of Prospit and Derse that are to be, assuming we save all of reality?”

“I’ve been thinking about that a bit. Why are only two Scratched sessions worth of heroes involved in saving all of reality? Surely the ghosts of the teams who created Alternia’s universe would be present in these dreambubbles. Or maybe players from the sessions that will spawn from the universe that we create together.”

Rose started to laugh. “I know I’m a fairly advanced Seer in command of a greater range of my abilities than before, but you are, as they say, off the fucking rails. I have absolutely no way of answering why we alone are responsible for saving all of reality.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I just wanted to voice my frustration that anything of importance ever was only done by us.” Kanaya shook her head. “I want a vacation.”

“We’re taking a vacation now, aren’t we?”

“A real vacation. To a destination of my choosing, for a length of time that I determine, full of activities that I decide to do.”

“Such simple pleasures,” Rose said, and she looked at Kanaya. “Let’s imagine it.”

“What?”

“Let’s take a vacation once this is all over.”

“Together?”

“I had hoped that would be implied in the plural first person…” The clarification would have been insulting if it didn’t sound so nervous.

“I’d be delighted to have you with me,” Kanaya rushed to let her know.

“Wonderful! So… where should we go?”

“Someplace sunny,” Kanaya said at first.

“A beach?”

“I don’t know. If we can determine that this vacation has safe beaches, I would enjoy it. But I also miss trees.”

“We can visit trees too. Which makes me wonder, have you ever seen a palm tree?”

“A palm what?”

“A tall, thick stalk with scales down the sides, and enormous feather-frond leaves at the top. They also have a tendency to drop large, spherical seeds on people’s heads, which can be fatal.”

“This organism sounds like it would be right at home on Alternia.”

“Well, they are also commonly found on beaches, and for their grisly history, are heralded as the trees of paradise.”

“I might grow accustomed to them, if you promise to warn me when their seed falls are impending.”

“You have my word.”

“I think I’d like to do some gardening too. That might not be possible on a beach, but any place where the bushes could be considered shrubbery worthy of pruning.”

“Must everything we do be outdoors?”

“When the sun is up, I would hope so. Why, what would you like to do?”

Rose pondered this for a second. “This is probably going to sound abjectly pathetic, but all that comes to mind is reading and watching movies, which is basically all we do on our meteor.”

“That’s not pathetic!”

“Are you just being nice?”

“No—well, I want to be nice, but books and movies are enjoyable in and of themselves. You want the opportunity to enjoy them without them serving as the only source of entertainment.”

“That’s a much nicer way to think about it,” Rose said. “I guess… I’d want to visit a city, too. I’ve never been in a settlement with a population greater than ten thousand people, and there were cities on Earth with millions of people. Tens of millions if you counted commuters from the surrounding areas…”

Kanaya got the feeling there was something else Rose wanted to say. “And…?”

“I just thought… I’d like my mom to be there too. No matter what we do, I think I want to spend time with her.” Rose covered her eyes with her free hand. “Ugh, I keep defeating the purpose of this exercise. The point was to think of a vacation for just us.”

Kanaya laughed at Rose’s shyness. “If I recall correctly, you never said this should be for ‘just us.’ You simply wanted to be included in a hypothetical vacation.”

“I promise we’ll find alone time. If this does happen, and my mom is there.”

“Why would—” Kanaya almost asked for more clarification, but she stopped herself. She got it.


	34. (Many) Years In The Past

_With funds provided by Hooknose, the Collator, and the Federate, Aradia and the Huntsman had purchased sun-camping gear for five. That equipment made the choice between traveling through the open plain or the frigid north a very easy one, and they left the little town as soon as they left the store. The trio of ruddies started out incredibly nervous, unsure of how to survive without certain water sources, square meals, or shelter, but no one even joked about turning back. They had made a choice, and they wanted to prove to their guides how ready they had been to make it._

_Aradia had never considered herself a very good teacher, but she showed them what she did to make travel through the wilderness easier, and they started to pick it up. The Huntsman brought in fauna as tutors to show them how best to run, climb, dig, eat, and hide. Apart from the Federate’s mild allergy to anything canine, they made fast friends with any animal the Huntsman chose to commune with. And while Aradia found a few drawbacks to traveling with company_ — _she valued privacy with her matesprit, and a quintet couldn’t match the speed of a duo_ — _but a few more friendly faces changed everything. She liked teaching them new things about navigation and the wilderness. She liked telling them about the complicated surgeries the Benevole had performed with Aradia’s assistance. She liked seeing their faces twist in horror._

_They told their own stories in response: the Federate had some mild psionic power, but had been passed over by the API in favor of those with stronger psionics. She wanted to find a place where her talents would be valued. With her nervous tic, the Collator felt weak and helpless, and if she joined the ruddies, believed she’d find a place where people would help her grow rather than set her in the corner with busy work shuffling paper around. Most of Hooknose’s close relationships, quadrants and friends alike, had fallen apart in quick succession, which left him craving a cause he could believe in. They shared their decalogue too, printed out one out-of-order page at a time so no one would notice what they were doing. They read it like a holy book, but discussed it like their favorite novel. The Huntsman and Aradia nodded along at the way the trio explained the ten points, but still didn’t find it a compelling way of life. They had their lifestyle down to an art with no interest in changing it._

_So when Aradia rose up with her psionics to check the surrounding terrain and saw their destination towering in the distance, she felt sad. She hadn’t been thinking about how they would have to leave. She realized she didn’t want them to go._

_Still, a deal was a deal She landed and reported that they had almost arrived at the city. The ruddies smiled and gave hugs of gratitude and made some farewell small talk._

_“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” the Federate asked them as they approached the city. “The movement could use two powerful trolls like you.”_

_“I think we’re good,” the Huntsman said. “We’re not really interested, in swearing to live by those rules. You guys sound like, it’s perfect for you, though.”_

_Aradia supposed there had to be some truth in these legends of the Chimeric’s wisdom and might for the ruddies to believe in him so ardently. She just couldn’t get past her first impression of the Chimeric, slamming his fists on the Benevole’s door and barely able to string more words together than ‘help me’ and ‘help him.’ Even once Aradia and her Mistress had stitched the Mournful back together, Aradia remembered the Chimeric sitting, engrossed in his notebook, waiting for him to wake up. Lofty rhetoric and criminal activity didn’t change the way Aradia knew he was a troll like any other trying to protect someone he loved._

_But the trio would have to leave. Aradia couldn’t stop them. Everyone would go their separate ways, with the Collator, Federate, and Hooknose going on to join their rebellion and Aradia and the Huntsman going back to… whatever they had been doing before._

_“Any requests from civilization?” the Federate asked. “We could pick it up and then drop it off for you.”_

_“Dental sanitizer?” the Huntsman joked._

_“How about a map?” Aradia said, surprising herself a little. “Something with all the little towns marked on it.”_

_The Collator nodded. “You got it, ri—um… you got it! Right!”_

_They packed up camp, preparing to take the trio as close to the city as the Huntsman and Aradia dared. Once the trolls started down the path to the outskirts of the city, the Huntsman began the process of dismounting with Aradia’s assistance._

_“Okay, what’s with the map, Starshine?” he asked._

_“I think it’d be useful to know where we’re going.”_

_“We already know where we’re going.”_

_“And… maybe a little more than that.”_

_“What’s on your pan?”_

_Her idea wasn’t very complete, and she could feel warmth in her cheeks as she described it. “What if we did this for other trolls? Anyone who wants to go someplace else, but with people who won’t let them?”_

_“More ruddies?”_

_“Mostly ruddies. I mean, don’t ask anyone ‘are you ruddies’ before we help them, but just… anyone who thinks that staying where they are will do them more harm than good.” Aradia helped her matesprit undo the final strap, and when she eased him to the ground, she held his hand. “Maybe even help people get away from their own Prosperas.”_

_The Huntsman said nothing for a moment, just holding her hand back and thinking it over._

_“And it doesn’t even have to be people in crisis! If we have a map, we can make a point to stop by the little towns, pick up a small handful of trolls, and give our wandering a little more purpose.”_

_“I don’t want to say no to that, but I do want to ask why.”_

_“I just… didn’t expect I would enjoy helping people go where they want to be as much as I do.”_

_He started to laugh a little. “I find that kind of hard to believe, since you chose ‘lodestar’ as your title. You’ve known for four sweeps, maybe longer, that you like guiding people.”_

_Aradia laughed along with him. “Maybe the answer was staring me in the face this whole time. But that’s all the more reason I should live up to it, yeah?”_

_“I guess that’s true. I don’t have a preference, for whether we travel alone, or take passengers every so often. So… I’ll support you, Starshine.”_

_Aradia gave him a hug, relishing the feeling of his strong arms around her. She had dreamed of being happy, but never imagined happiness would look like this. Even if she didn’t recognize it at first, this happiness looked beautiful._

 

* * *

 

_The newsfeeds weren’t getting any better. Kanaya turned on the radio in any block she entered, but left the image displays off. Pictures made it worse. They would show the damage to the data center. The Stalwart’s face. The Seafarer’s face. Fearful trolls, former friends of the kidnapped or criminal, on the verge of crying as they begged for peace. Trueshot would periodically ask if Kanaya wanted the radios removed, but she refused. She wanted to know. She wanted to be ready. She wanted the truth._

_Shortly after the announcement that the API had eliminated the rebel virus from their communication systems, news broke that survivors from a boat presumed lost at sea had surfaced, confirming that the ship had been plundered by the Chimeric. No one was allowed to speak with the victims yet, but spokespeople reassured the public they were safe, healthy, and recovering from the trauma._

_Voices asked, “What have we learned about this terrorist cell, now that we see trolls who have escaped capture?”_

_The experts replied, “We are not at liberty to discuss that at this time. We should keep our focus on the trolls who need our support after their ordeal.”_

_“But what does this mean for other captives of the Chimeric? The trolls from the crew who did not escape, and the Seafarer? His return is critical to restoring imperial stability, isn’t it?”_

_“We are not at liberty to discuss that at this time.”_

_“Do you think the Chimeric has killed him?”_

_“We will give a formal statement once more information emerges, and will not comment on speculation.”_

_Kanaya wished she could go back to the caverns. She knew what needed doing there, how to help, how to make the world run properly. The caverns made sense. But she was supposed to stay here on the surface. That was the deal, after all. The Compasse had ordered Prospera to assist in the Chimeric’s capture in order to win amnesty for herself and voluntary service for Kanaya. At least Kanaya felt comfortable knowing that their continued matespritship had not been part of that deal. They would be free: of crime, of duty, of each other. Would sending Kanaya back to the caverns be permitted under this arrangement?_

_But returning to the caverns, where no light and little news existed, would be the same as turning off the radio and pretending none of this was happening. If she tried to ignore this and go back to sleep, she would only find nightmares._

_At the next dinner, where she and Trueshot picked over nourishing plates of food (which just tasted like paper to Kanaya) he cleared his throat. “Another letter arrived. I have placed it with the others.”_

_Kanaya paused for a moment. This was the first time he had told her about a letter’s arrival. Now the door to curiosity was opened, and she couldn’t resist. “Thank you. How many have arrived?”_

_“Their frequency is unpredictable, but they arrive roughly every two weeks.”_

_“I see.”_

_They fell back into silence. Kanaya could feel Trueshot watching her. She carefully speared vegetables with her pronged consumption utensil as he watched her._

_“…If you are in need of assistance, you should inform me.”_

_“While I appreciate the offer, I have no problems in need of a Guardian’s help.”_

_“Perhaps another Guardian would not be able to provide what you need, but I would be willing to… improvise.”_

_Kanaya looked up at him. She could see strain and sweat on his brow, more than usual. At least she was sitting far enough away from him that she could not perceive his scent. It had been months since they had seen the Lodestar and Huntsman on their way, with supplies instead of a culling order. Was Trueshot offering her a similar release?_

_“I only mention this because you appear stressed. If this is related to the newsfeeds, you are always free to turn them off, and I will be careful not to receive broadcasts in your presence.”_

_“I want to be informed. It is depressing to see every institution I once trusted crumble, but I would rather be informed than ignorant.”_

_“I understand.”_

_She set aside her implement. “We broached the topic once, and you did not believe it would be wise for me to assist as a mediculler during this time.”_

_“I remember.”_

_“…Could you re-assess the wisdom of that decision?” Kanaya said. “We feared Prospera’s enemies would target me, but apart from a single interruption of trolls in need of help, no such attack has occurred. I don’t care if my time there is restricted, or if I must perform duties well beneath my skill and blood, but… I want to be doing_ something _useful.”_

_Trueshot nodded very slowly. “I will consider it,” he said, but after so many perigees in his care, Kanaya could hear something different in his tone. That wasn’t a thinly veiled ‘no.’ It was a thinly veiled ‘yes.’_

 

* * *

 

_Interrogations didn’t last much longer. Chestnut had cracked easily—no pun intended—but others were contrary, stupid, or both. Vriska and Lawscale learned nothing from the rest of the refugees that they hadn’t learned from Chestnut. The Seafarer was a rebel, they would next strike in Usukatik, and the concept of their former friends coming to harm prevented most of them from speaking up, even if they decried the rebellion itself._

_“So now what?” Vriska asked her partner. “Shall we head them off in Usukatik?”_

_“Possibly,” Lawscale said._

_“What other possibility is there?”_

_“If we share that information immediately, there will be crackdowns. Curfews, ideological purging, things that force the ruddies deeper underground. In the worst case scenario, the Chimeric will decide Usukatik is no longer a viable target and go somewhere else.”_

_“So what shall we do instead?”_

_“I think you already happened upon a strategy without realizing it.”_

_“What makes_ you _think I didn’t realize it?”_

_Lawscale raised an eyebrow over her shades at Vriska. “Okay then. Tell me what I’m thinking.”_

_Vriska narrowed her eyes for a moment. She considered trying to extend her mental abilities and read Lawscale’s mind, but she had a feeling the Vigilant would not appreciate that kind of cheating. Vriska happened upon the strategy… “Sleeper agents.”_

_“Exactly. Do nothing. Allow ruddies to congregate with impunity and then follow them to where the Chimeric wants them to go.”_

_“Then ambush the entire rebellion and end it.”_

_“And we have a complete roster of everyone involved in the Chimeric’s rebellion. No surprises from the Seafarer: everyone in his party is either a former passenger of the_ Lux Volans _, a student from the Stalwart’s institute, or one of the abducted sailors. We can anticipate everything.”_

_“Now that is devious.” Vriska smiled at Lawscale. “Really, it’s such a shame that you always felt such a call to truth and justice and all of that bullshit. You would have made a fantastic criminal mastermind.”_

_“I prefer to be the one who brings masterminds to their knees.” Lawscale stood and stretched her arms up, then bent her spine left to right. “Are you ready to construct our counter-attack?”_

_“I was hatched ready.”_

 

* * *

 

_Sollux hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks now, not since the Chimeric’s virus corrupted all communications. He couldn’t even muster the energy to be smug and condescending to the oh-so-elite specialists who relied on a hive full of goldbloods to do the impossible. He wanted a medal. And a nap. But his brain was running too fast and had been for far too long, and he had to find a way to just_ deal _._

_He read the decalogue. It read like a kaleidoscope to him, with a myriad of jewel-colors swirling together, and every so often a ruby crystal popped up. It was always small, like a turn of phrase or specific reference, but all the perigees Sollux and the young Chimeric had spent debating culling law meant he could recognize the scarletblood’s style at a glance. It reminded him of the API’s charter, but turned up to eleven, and opened up for trolls of any color to join. Imperial response to the decalogue was completely inadequate, in Sollux’s opinion. ‘We maintain our commitment to the protections advanced by Her Radiant Compassion and blah blah blah blah.’ Even among the API, Soulstar had to quell sympathy for the Chimeric, reminding their members how hard they had worked to create a sanctuary for themselves, and did everyone just forget that the Chimeric was a murderer?_

_Sollux couldn’t forget. But he also had no idea what he was supposed to do about it._

_Following the triple-shifts Sollux had pulled to repair the entire internet, they took him out of duties rotation for a while, pending a vote from the rest of the delegation. So that just left Sollux to sit, and stew, and think, and send a few messages._

thaumaturgicAurelian [TA] is now contacting crimsonGuerilla [CG]

TA: ii know you’re not goiing two an2wer becau2e you’re a piiece of 2hiit  
TA: but ii 2tiill have no iidea what you’re tryiing two accomplii2h here  
TA: ii read your decalogue twiice and iit’2 2tiill non2en2e  
TA: not the what you’re doiing but the why  
TA: why ii2 thii2 2o iimportant that you’re wiilliing two fiight everyone you ever called a friiend?  
TA: why are you tryiing two create a new world when you 2aiid your2elf that you thiink iit’2 all goiing two burn?  
TA: ii2 thii2 new world of your2 even goiing two be worth iit iif you have two cliimb over a piile of bodiie2 two get there?  
TA: and why am ii even 2tiill me22agiing you?  
TA: ii already know you’re not goiing two an2wer.  
TA: thii2 ii2 yet another one of my totally awe2ome futiile pa2tiime2.  
TA: ii 2ure do love bangiing my head agaiin2t the wall and not haviing anythiing two 2how for iit but a headache.  
TA: ii 2tiill remember what you told me about you wantiing me two help  
TA: you’re goiing two want me two hack the unhackable  
TA: iin liight of how much of an utter ba2tard you’ve been two me and the world, ii’m goiing two put an a2terii2k on that promii2e  
TA: ii’m only goiing two help me iif you can prove two me that my a22ii2tance wiill 2top the fiightiing  
TA: you want me two blow up the guardiian2 or help you kiill the compa22e then ii am goiing two tell you two get the fuck out  
TA: miight even try hackiing you back and crack open all your 2ecret2 for the authoriitiie2.  
TA: far a2 you know ii miight have done that already  
TA: but you wiill only 2ee my help iif you can prove two me that iit’2 goiing two end the fiightiing.  
TA: maybe that’2 what you were talkiing about from the 2tart?  
TA: my a22ii2tance ii2 goiing two be the thiing that end2 you.  
TA: whether that’2 what you meant or not, that’2 what ii’m gonna do.  
TA: 2o fuck you.  
TA: and  
TA: try not two diie


	35. Karkat For The Defense

Karkat held a crumpled summons in his hands. It was one of Dave’s ‘vintage’ comics about the guy who, despite warnings, kept falling down a structurally impossible number of stairs with a message scratched out in Terezi’s quirk and color on the back side. Something like _CLOWN, TR14L, OR 3LS3, BR1NG TOW3L_ with a location and number of hours he had until the trial began. Karkat had torn it down the instant he found it, unsure if Gamzee had seen it, and then relayed the critical time-and-place information in his most pale and shoosh-y voice. After having seen how scared Gamzee got when Karkat first broached the hypothetical concept of redemption to him, a confrontational message might have scared him off once and for all.

_But Gamzee should be here by now._

‘Here’ was Karkat’s block, which’d had its air vent grate removed weeks ago. Karkat actually had no idea where to find the grate again if he wanted to put it back. Karkat and Gamzee had arranged to meet here for a bro-hug and pep talk session before going out to meet the rest of the team face-to-face, Karkat prepared for a temporary ashen flip between himself and his moirail and all his other friends (well, his claim to friendship with them was shaky at best, with all Karkat had done to hurt them) until everyone could sit down and find out how to get along.

Should he go looking for Gamzee? No, if Karkat moved from this spot and Gamzee arrived, he might flip his shit and everything would get worse. But what if Gamzee was stuck somewhere? Or if it was a trap after all, and someone (Vriska) was punishing Gamzee instead of giving him a chance to say sorry? But if he stayed here, how would Karkat even know?

He stood in his block wringing his hands and tapping his feet for another few minutes, before he reached _fuck it, I have to at least check_. He assumed the position and wriggled his way into the vent, making a beeline for Gamzee’s nest, knocking on the wall before arriving, and then pushing his way in. The space looked deserted, and in more than a ‘Gamzee is around but not visible’ kind of way. There had only been a few times when Karkat came to this nest and felt it was well and truly _empty_. 

So then where the fucking hell was Gamzee?

 

* * *

 

Vriska knew Terezi was enjoying this more than she should, especially since nothing had happened yet. She had re-arranged the furniture in the common room to have a chair, a tall podium with a law book on it, and seats flanking each side. Gamzee was supposed to sit in the middle and look up at Her Honorable Tyranny while the spectators to each side ensured a fair trial. Like Gamzee would put up with any of that shit. He hadn't even been good at roleplaying _before_ he started killing everyone, why would he be good at it after?

“Is he coming or not?” Dave asked.

“Give him a little more time, cool kid.”

“I mean, I could,” Dave said. “But this is boring, and stupid, and I’m against this in the first place, so I wanna not. I think I was making real progress toward alchemizing a bugged-up XBox.”

“The boxes of X will be waiting for you after. I just want to give him a little more time to show his stupid clown face,” Terezi replied, with that draconian smile that made Vriska feel kind of twinge-y in the chest. Like she had just witnessed something adorable and badass at the same time.

But then the palmhusk in her sylladex started to vibrate, strong enough that it made her entire 8-ball modus rumble. She could barely keep her hands on it as she shook it to see the card with her palmhusk in it to bring it out into the open. She saw a code flashing on its screen: _8P8N._

 _Oh shit_ , she thought. She gripped the palmhusk tighter. “Oh, _shit_!!!!!!!!”

“What is it?” Terezi asked.

“My jackpot lock, it’s open, and _I’m not there!_ ”

“Your _what_.”

“Stridork, are you only going to care about this after I exposit what the fuck is going on?!”

“Maybe,” Rose replied instead.

Vriska pitched her palmhusk back into her modus. “Once I went God Tier, I alchemized a slot machine lock that only opens if you spin a jackpot, and only _I_ am lucky enough to open it! It’s on the room holding all the shit I’ve decided is going to be really important to keep safe until we reach the new session!”

“But if you’re here, then how did it open?”

“ _Now do you see what the problem is?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!_ ”

Terezi snapped the book on her podium shut. “The trial’s off.”

“What, just like that?”

“You think it’s a coincidence someone broke into Vriska’s vault-thing _now_?”

“Guess not.”

“So we gotta _move_!” 

Vriska herself, obviously, had started to move. But in just a few moments, Terezi was beside her, and she felt like she had something better than luck on her side.

 

* * *

 

As much as Rose had been looking forward to seeing an Alternian trial (even a fake one, for educational purposes) she understood the situation at hand to be dire enough that she could skip shedding tears over spilled milk. Besides, it sounded like soon there might be spilled blood.

The pieces were slotting together quickly in her brain. She could envision the stupid door Vriska was talking about with its slot machine lock, as well as a few secrets Vriska kept inside: a set of timeboxes that used to belong to Aradia, the corpses of the deceased trolls, some of the remaining legendary weaponry that had been stored in chests with inferior locking mechanisms, and a multitude of other unknown advantages. Gamzee would be in the vents before they knew what was up…

 _‘Are you a witch or aren’t you?’_ Rose had outgrown a lot of things, but she would never outgrow that book. She stopped running and pulled out the Thorns of Oglogoth, twisting them into a comfortable hold in her hands.

“Rose?” Kanaya stopped a moment while the rest of the team barreled to the end of the hall and, at a crossroads, turned left.

“Go ahead, I know what I’m doing!” she said. Kanaya thankfully listened, probably knowing Rose had attempted far more dangerous plans than whatever this was and lived to tell the tale. Besides, Kanaya’s chainsaw would probably be better used elsewhere.

Magic, magic, magic, she still had magic, she _must_ still have magic. She still had the Thorns, so there must still be magic in them, or magic in her to channel through the dark wands. She remembered the scream in her throat when she faced Jack. She remembered the burn in her eyes as she stared into an orb of incomprehensible madness. She remembered spitting an unknowable tongue at John as she tried to make language contain her rage, grief, and madness. She remembered the negative energy, black electricity, crawling in her skin. She swirled that energy with a wave of her hands onto the Thorns, pointed them toward the nearest vet, and _fired_. The spell crackled around the metal, until—

“ _HONK!_ ”

Rose let the magic clear and took a deep breath. So grimdarkness was still kind of hard to wield, but she felt better knowing it could get results. 

And a second later, Rose watched her team backtrack and chose the other hallway, where they too had heard Gamzee’s miserable honk-shout. Rose had better help press the advantage and join them.

 

* * *

 

Terezi quickly quit breathing through her nose and switched to her mouth instead. There was basically no way she would be getting through this fight on smell-o-vision alone anyway, but sprinting after a traitorous clown would need more air than her nose could supply. The whole meteor smelled pretty monochrome, and she was looking for a black-and-gray monster in a shades-of-gray hallway. She’d probably do better following the scent of deceit.

She followed Vriska’s footfalls too. Vriska had the point position of their little pack, and after Rose had zapped the clown out of the vents and back into the halls, she had started moving with even greater certainty. It left Terezi with brainspace to make a plan. They needed to corner him. Pin him down on all sides, give him no place to go…

“Everyone, push him toward the core! Split off and cover his exits!” Terezi ordered.

“Which exits?” Dave asked.

“Don’t make me micromanage you! Just go!”

“Got it,” Rose jumped in, and she pulled Dave and Kanaya to the side to give them the brief, Light-inspired version of how to stop the Bard of Rage. Terezi heard Vriska’s footfalls slow a bit, but Terezi just urged her on.

“We’re the push! Come on!”

And a moment later, Vriska was back in form and the chase was on again.

“You can’t really fly in here, can you?”

“Too narrow!”

“But the Octet…”

“An eight-by-eight roll won’t really help us here.”

“What about a roll that’s _not_ eight-by-eight?”

Vriska caught on and laughed. “Hell yes! Come on, I think we’re close!”

Terezi heard him before she smelled him. A third set of footfalls, echoing down the hallway ahead of them, spurring Terezi to run faster. _We’ll get him, we can do it, we just need to_ —

“Hey, ‘motherfucker!’ _Catch!_ ”

Vriska stopped, and she let the Octet fly. The dice tumbled and spun until they settled on their chosen attack.

**WEB WEAVER’S BOLA**

Something swooshed past Terezi’s ear and struck hard against flesh. She heard another honk and a thud and realized the attack had tripped him. Drawing up everything she had, Terezi followed the arc of the bolas and tackled the downed clown. Her cane slid under his chin and she pulled back with two hands.

“Gotcha,” she bluffed, expecting that this first strike would just inspire him to fight harder. Her gamble proved right as Gamzee reached up his own hands, pried the cane off of his neck, and then used it as leverage to swing Terezi over his head. She landed on her back, but she expected that, and at least had time to tense and keep the air from getting knocked out of her. She heard some tearing cords, then clunks, which sounded to her like Gamzee escaping the trip-ropes to get ready to run again. 

But the gap was closing. And as Terezi reached up her hand and felt Vriska pull her back to her feet, she smiled.

 

* * *

 

 _He can’t take it from me_.

Kanaya had her lipstick in hand, but left it capped. It was easier to run with as lipstick than as a chainsaw. She was still trying to process what all of this even meant—what had Gamzee taken from that room? What did he intend to do with it? Why had they even decided to give him a second chance?—but Kanaya felt an old fear bubbling in her mind. Her only hope of restoring the Matriorb was if everything in the new session went just perfectly right, and if Gamzee thought he could take that away from her, she’d be happy to inform him that he was wrong using the language of rapidly spinning metal.

Rose had jabbed her wands in the directions of a few hallways. She delegated one to Dave, sprinted down another, and left Kanaya to take care of the last. If they didn’t plug these holes, Gamzee could escape. They could force him into the core with nowhere to run became practically certain. Kanaya was more than happy to play her part in that endeavor.

She took a shortcut down one of the stairwells, popped on a transportalizer, then another, and then found the hallway Rose wanted her to occupy. Dave would have a similarly circuitous path, but so long as he ended up where he needed to go, no one cared. She kind of wished that Dave could set aside his aversion to time travel for this one encounter, but then remembered that the properties of the Furthest Ring would probably teleport him somewhere ridiculous if he tried to create stable time loops in the middle of endless void.

_Focus, Maryam. Focus on what you’re going to do._

She uncapped her lipstick and gave it a rev, and then a few experimental swings. It had been a while since she lugged around her chainsaw’s full weight, but she could reach all corners of her designated hallway and a little beyond.  

Now she just needed something to saw.

 

* * *

 

Dave’s strategy was just to hold Caledvwlch, say nothing, and hope that did the trick. So when Gamzee rounded his corner, all gangly limbs clad in loose black with smudged-up paint over his Wolverine scars, Dave braced his hand against the hilt and dug in his heel. Gamzee skidded to a stop and changed directions, running along the path they had set out for him.

Well, that was easy. Dave hadn't even had to swing.

The rest of the Scooby Gang passed a moment later, so Dave hopped to it and started running behind them. Rose said all they had to do was plug those three holes and they’d be golden. Once they passed hers, Gamzee would have no choice but to run directly into the core. He had a terrible feeling the murderclown would have something else up his sleeve, something Rose couldn’t have foreseen, but it wasn’t like Dave could strategize this hard without a few minutes to sit down and draw out the stable time loops that he wouldn’t be able to use without smearing himself on the side of the meteor like a bug on a windshield. Stick with the plan that involved running like a pack of lions after the world’s deadliest gazelle.

As they approached Rose’s camp-out hallway, a shower of white lightning dissuaded Gamzee from even _attempting_ to turn and face her. He just kept running forward, and now the whole gang was behind them. The hallway opened up into something of a gaping chasm, with the only way to go being down into the depths of the meteor. Dave at least took it upon himself to start flying because running was for chumps.

Gamzee didn’t look like he was running out of stamina, but he was running out of options. Dave could see him looking around, searching for any kind of escape route that didn’t involve continuing down, but sucks for him, the lighty ladies had already taken care of that. But what if he stopped and decided to fight? What if he turned around and started swinging clubs at Terezi, or Rose, or Kanaya? It wasn't like they had offered him redemption in the first place because they longed for more clown in their lives. hey just did not want to face Gamzee on the side of their enemies. What if they had to fight him now? What if Vriska’s deadliness factor wasn’t enough to get the job done?

He really should have brought that up earlier, before the clown hunt began.

The metal floor of the meteor started to run out, and patches of weird rocky clay heralded the core of the meteor. They’d be out of the industrial complex in just another moment, and that proved too much for the clown. He skidded to a halt, turned around, and pulled two clubs into his hands. Dave tightened his grip on Caledvwlch, but Vriska already looked prepared. She had a blue cutlass with a barb on the end in her hand, since clearly it wouldn’t be satisfying enough to fuck Gamzee’s shit up with some magic dice. She swung—

 _Clang_. A pair of sickles stopped the blow, and Karkat grimaced with the effort of holding it back.

“Vantas, what the fuck?!” Vriska let up and tried to step to the side, but Karkat moved too.

“No, _you_ tell me what the fuck! What the fuck is going on, you said there’d be a trial, not a hunt!”

“He didn’t show, and he broke my lock—”

“And that’s a reason to go full culling drone squad on him?!” Karkat kept one sickle pointed at Vriska and the crew as he leaned down toward Gamzee. “I’ll fix this, I promise, just go…”

“Wait, no! We need to interrogate—” But Terezi’s words were too late, because Gamzee crawled to the side and into the popped-off grate of the nearest air vent. It looked like that was how Karkat had made it to the core in the first place.

 _Fuck_.

“Karkat, you need to explain yourself right the hell now,” Vriska demanded.

“I don’t think I do! I think it’s pretty obvious here that I’m the only one who gives half of a muslcebeast’s infected testicle about making a team that _includes_ people instead of persecutes them with insane cross-meteor beasthunts! Do you even realize how hard it’s going to be to calm him down again after the shit-gauntlet you put him through!?”

“Hang on, Karkat, _we_ put _him_ through?” Dave touched down and tried to step closer. “He’s a mad clown and we’re pretty sure he stole some plot-critical shit from Vriska…”

“Then I’ll be the one to recover it! But you had better fucking believe that stuffing him full of pointy blades and needles or hacking him to bits is not the way to do it!” Karkat took another breath, but let it out, and stowed his sickles. “I’m going to go fix your mess, since that seems to be the only thing I’m good for around here. You’re pre-emptively welcome, by the way.”

And Karkat crouched down and popped into the vent, the motion easy and natural, like it was familiar to him.

_…What the fuck?_


	36. Hope and Consequences

_ Eridan spent the entire voyage to Usukatik arguing his case to the Chimeric that they should expect massive imperial action against them. Powerless to undo what he believed to have been a tragic mistake in the first place—allowing potential enemies to leave with critical information regarding their movements—he wanted to make damn fucking sure the Chimeric didn’t continue that streak of terrible decisions and put his entire rebellion at risk over his ‘belief’ that trolls wouldn’t betray friends who had already betrayed them. That wasn’t how betraying people worked, and he kind of thought the Chimeric knew that. _

_ “So what should we do?” _

_ “Not go to Usukatik.” _

_ “Out of the question. And it’s because of mysterious errands so please just accept that as my answer so we can start working on a solution.” _

_ “To the problem  _ you _ caused.” _

_ “I’m trying to do things the right way, and that comes with risks. The smart way will mitigate the risks of doing things right.” _

_ “Spare me your rhetoric. We abandoned courtly trappings to become revolutionaries.” _

_ “What point is there to our new civilization if we are not civilized? But we’re off topic. We have to craft a strategy to render our forces impervious to any attack or ambush.” _

_ “Bring me the maps. And think a how you want to apologize for leavin’ me to fix your sorry mistakes.” _

_ “I already owe you more apologies than can be counted, but I’ll add this one to the list.” _

_ Out came the maps and the markers. Eridan preferred to conduct his battles at sea, where the he could read the wind and waves and persuade them to fight on his side. Counter-ambush would be risky, since they had no way to tell for sure exactly how many guards and officers would be sent as ‘the full force of the empire.’ There was also the possibility that the Compasse would react to news of their movements with authoritarianism, taking any dissenters (or ‘ruddies,’ as they had been nicknamed) and sequestering them behind bars and walls. Geographical features outside of the city had to be considered as well, and where would they stash the  _ Absolution _? What if they acquired more recruits than two ships could hold? Eridan’s experience as a logistics manager proved useful, and he had a slew of trolls willing to learn and assist him. For the first time, those faces included trolls with green, yellow, brown, and red blood. In his previous life, he would have been expected to refuse their help and give them dumbed-down, grubbie-gloves work to do. Now, he could share any burden he wanted with anyone who volunteered. Maybe they couldn’t hold as much as he did, but they held more than they had ever been given before. _

_ “A bottleneck will be the most defensible position,” Eridan explained to the Chimeric and a few spectators selected for their interest in learning battle strategy. “If we place bait at the endin’ a some narrow passage, the authorities will concentrate on the bait and ignore the narrow point. Then we divert our recruits away from the end where our enemies are waitin’, and if they catch on, they’ll be forced to fight us single-file.” _

_ “Does such a position exist near Usukatik?” the Chimeric asked. _

_ “Ideally, here,” Eridan pointed to the north of the city. “There’s two backup locations, but they’ve got some other risks.” _

_ “Perfect.” _

_ “I’m not finished. There’s no geographical formation close to Usukatik where it’ll be safe to anchor our ships. I am positive they’ve already scouted the coastline and set traps in every viable cove.” _

_ “How should we avoid that?” _

_ “We have to make port far away from our target and then draw closer on land. Leave skeleton crews maintainin’ the ships and send everyone else in.” _

_ One of the spectators raised a hand. “You mean split up?” _

_ “Either that or abandon the greatest warship ever crafted,” Eridan retorted. Maybe he was biased in this assessment, but in his opinion the praise was highly warranted. _

_ “We can afford to divide ourselves,” the Chimeric said. “They have sworn to uphold her Radiance’s social order but we know they will flee before blood, which we are prepared to shed.” _

_ “Our blood or theirs?” another troll asked. _

_ “Both. We can accomplish with ten fighters what the Empire needs fifty to do. And anyone who wants to be one of us will surely join our fight. The decalogue has prepared them to fight for their freedom.” _

_ “Then by your math, we can face a force a four hundred. If the Empire sends any more, we will lose.” _

_ The Chimeric scowled at him. “Did I call for your pessimism?” _

_ “Hope starts wars. It doesn’t win them.” _

_ “So we will rely on reconnaissance, terrain, strategy, and training. Is there anything else we need to account for?”   _

_ “This is the most of it. We’ll continue to hammer out details until we arrive, and we have to be prepared to change things if we don’t find conditions in our favor.” _

_ Their scarlet leader nodded, and then finally twisted his scowl into a wry smile. The look he gave Eridan screamed, ‘I told you it was possible.’ Eridan responded with sourly narrowed eyes, but had to admit it felt nice to be appreciated for his talents. _

_ They debated the roster of fighters—two-thirds of their total number slated to go—as Eridan adjusted course to the northeast. The de facto ‘inner circle’ would be sure to go, the Mirthful and Tameless eager to be part of such a fight for their own reasons. Some novices earnestly volunteered, wanting to cut their teeth on real combat after training and sparring. Most veterans knew their skills would be best used in the upcoming fight, so they volunteered. By the time they found a suitably abandoned shelter for the ships, their eighty soldiers had been chosen. _

_ And Eridan was among them. _

_ “This should be the last time I need you in the field,” the Chimeric assured him. “This is our proving ground from a military perspective. We’ll either learn to work in secrecy alone or gain recruitment momentum that will give us forces large enough to allow you to stay back.” _

_ “I’m not scared a fightin’.” _

_ “I know that. But the more you appear in combat, the more you risk discovery.” _

_ “Why would I be scared a discovery?” _

_ “Then what’s the scarf for?” _

_ Eridan looked away. “Keepin’ out the weather. Don’t you have a landin' party to prepare?” _

_ “Of course.” _

_ The Chimeric meant well by asking about that, Eridan knew it. And it was the same treatment all the rest of his followers received. What do you need? How can I help? Who are you fighting to protect? Other well-meaning questions like that. The Chimeric never expected himself to be the source of answers, but he gave everyone a hand to squeeze, shoulder to lean on, or sympathetic ear. Eridan just felt like accepting that sensitivity would lead to more harm than good. _

_ He did fear discovery, in a way. It didn’t come from any delusions that he could secretly assist the Chimeric indefinitely. He just didn’t know which day would be the one where all of Beforus learned he had betrayed his caste, his queen, and his moirail. All he could do was pray it wouldn’t be today. _

_ The Tameless assumed command of the attack force, leading them along animal trails away from main roads as they approached Usukatik. Bold members of the group with exceptional lying skills went to the main road and made small talk with other travelers, bringing back gossip and some current events. It looked like Usukatik had been enjoying business as usual, with no attacks against ruddies that amounted to anything more than paranoid loyalists pointing accusatory fingers at anything suspicious, prompting some wiggler-who-cried-howlbeast stories. Eridan supposed that was a fine strategy for the Compasse—ignoring those she disagreed with to make them complacent and reckless—but it solidified his prediction that a mighty force would be there to stop them if they started explicit recruitment. _

_ “We’ll need to hide from the sun along the bottleneck, the day before we tell everyone to meet,” the Chimeric said. “Unless you disagree, Seafarer?” _

_ “No, I agree. But we need to be cautious. The Compasse’s soldiers could trip over us as they move into ambush position if we’re careless.” _

_ “Excellent. If we can clear the lowest bar of stealth possible, we’ll be fine.” _

_ They had a little bit of time to bide, as the Chimeric sent those same unassuming, good-at-lying souls into the city to spread a few coded messages about when and where any runaways needed to go in order to join the rebellion. Eridan kept to himself and quintuple-checked his rifle, thinking about some of the news they had gathered. Surely the Empire had confirmed his role in the rebellion by now. Those sailors they let go with knowledge of Usukatik had seen him acting as a willing ally of the Chimeric. But they kept that news from spreading… _

If seadwellers knew they had the choice to leave your system, you’re afraid they would, aren’t you? So you’re hiding me for as long as you can.

_ It hurt how easily he could deduce the Compasse’s actions. Like he had a copy of her mind imprinted into his. She probably felt the same, though he had never let her see the full picture. Maybe she would understand him better now, watching his actions at a distance, than she ever did when they shared a pile. _

_ Three nights before the fight, they spotted a company of two dozen reinforcementers traveling through the bottleneck-road to the clearing designated in their messages. They heard more rustling in the woods too, which the Tameless could not verify as the noises of animals. Two nights, they saw another three companies. Then five on the last night. _

_ “They outnumber us by at least a hundred,” a troll said.  _

_ “We’ll be fine,” the Chimeric answered. “They can’t all get us at the same time. And you’ve seen it before, they’ll run as soon as they see blood.” _

_ Eridan nodded with him to reassure their fighting force, choosing not to mention another fact they would depend on. They needed fear and bloodshed to cause the reinforcementers to break ranks to escape with their recruits in the first place. The Mirthful would be more than obliging to act as an agent of terror, but they risked spooking their own side if they let those powers loose. Scared soldiers were sloppy soldiers.  _

_ The night of the battle started quiet. It had to. If any more reinforcementers came through and spotted them, or if the recruits they hoped to intercept acted too loud, the fight would start too soon: high casualties, no recruits. Eridan waited in the underbrush, Ahab’s Crosshairs resting on his lap while he breathed in through his nose and out through his gills. The breath felt humid against his skin, insulated by his scarf.  _

_ They watched. And waited. _

_ Hours passed before they saw the first trolls, five of them in a fearful huddle, a few portable light sources in their hands pointing all directions. One of the rebels near the edge of the path stood up and placed a finger to his lips, directing the newcomers to sit toward the edge of the road and extinguish their lights. They did so, and Eridan could hear them breathing, with sudden gasps and whispers of ‘look’ as they spotted more, then more, then still more rebels hidden in the underbrush. Then they took up the burden of stopping the next trolls to come up the road, and the next, and the next. The rebels themselves started to buzz with excitement as the number who decided to leave with them grew. Ten. Twenty. Forty. Sixty. _

I hope this is the ‘momentum’ you wanted, Chimeric.

_ When the number of fleeing ruddies matched the rebellion’s forces troll for troll, Eridan heard another noise coming from the opposite direction. Before they even arrived, Eridan knew it must be sentries from the battalion of soldiers waiting for them, perplexed why no one had showed up yet. It would be up to him again. Just a few shots before the battle truly begun. He just needed to wait… Just breathe, in through nose and out through gills… _

_ “LIEUTENANT! THE REBELS!”  _

_ Eridan twisted to his feet, bracing the Crosshairs against his shoulder and taking quick aim. He loosed two shots in as many seconds, each a scant inch away from grazing a uniformed troll’s horns. The streaks of lightning hit the underbrush instead and erupted into flames. _

_ “NOW!” the Chimeric’s order roared. The rebels closest to the scouts descended on them, screaming and causing screams. Eridan saw the Chimeric’s sickles swing and carve a slash across the chest of one. The others landed strikes too and drew more blood, which had exactly the effect the Chimeric predicted. Wounded and frightened, they ran back the way they had come. Eridan stepped closer to the road and fired a few more shots, catching more fires along the path. _

_“CHARGE!” their intrepid leader screamed, and the line of trolls pursued the sentries. Eridan saw the Tameless bound deeper into the forest so she could strike from the trees. The Mirthful moved into position behind his moirail, like a monstrous shadow that any who harmed the Chimeric would have to fight next. The rest followed suit, prepared to show their fangs and claws anything it took to make those who opposed them back down._  

_ The imperial forces had already spilled into the bottleneck to answer the fearful cries of their companions, swallowing the injured trolls behind their bodies as they met the approaching rebels. Many fell in second. Eridan opened fire again, a few shots to set the trees ablaze terrorize the remaining soldiers, but he directed a few against the soldiers themselves. He tried to aim for shoulders and legs rather than heads and chests, but even he knew there was little point in trying to shoot people non-lethally with a high-octane rifle. It was like trying to gently nudge someone with a barrelling locomotive. _

_ The reinforcementers split roughly in half into those who would stay and those who fled. Any who fled were quickly replaced with more soldiers in uniform, who met with a similar choice: aggress or abscond. The casualties were not one-sided either. Eridan counted five rebels fall before they made it to the mouth of the clearing. Some rebels turned to try and help, and either pulled their bleeding comrades up or checked for signs of life. _

_ When they made it into the clearing, the reinforcementers had thinned. Eridan estimated a hundred trolls left still standing and fighting. If the recruited ruddies joined the fight then even numbers would be in their favor. He locked the safety back on the Crosshairs and switched to his cutlass, preparing to join the others and carve their path to freedom. _

_ Or he would, but he tripped. _

_ Eridan was snarling before he reached the ground, humiliating memories of a shameful, dishonest defeat coming to mind. He kicked at the obstacle and realized it was a hand—someone had grabbed his ankle to trip him. Twisting fast and hard as he could to dislodge his leg, he looked to the face of his attacker, a yellow-eyed troll with short horns, a shaved skull, and a now muddy imperial uniform. _

_ The yellowblood’s eyes widened. And Eridan realized his scarf had fallen as he went down, showing unmistakable finned cheeks to his attacker. _

_ No time to consider the consequences. Eridan took his other foot and kicked the troll square in the nose. The hand that tripped him released, and Eridan scrambled his way to his feet to get back in the fray, subduing and severing any troll in a uniform in his way. They needed to get out of here, and fast. He saw the Tameless back in the fray, her claws shredding skin. The Mirthful’s clubs swung wide and hit hard. The Chimeric’s crimson shirt had a half dozen new colors on it, dark burgundy through pale greens. _

_ Soon, even with violence still clashing between the two forces, the battle looked won. The reinforcementers were decimated, and the survivors lacked the courage or strength to oppose them any longer. The Chimeric yelled for the rebels to move, and they did, passing through the blood-soaked clearing and to the trails that would lead them away from the authorities. _

_Eridan wrapped the scarf back around his face, like it would do any good among his allies. He couldn’t stop seeing that yellowblood’s face. Maybe that particular soldier would die of injuries and take Eridan’s secret with him._  

_ Who was he kidding. Even if he did, someone there must have seen him fighting. His time had come, and soon all of Beforus would know him as a traitor. _

_ He’d deal with those consequences later. _


	37. Blame Game

_ Nepeta cleaned herself gradually, the way her lusus had taught her to, by wetting the back of her hand with her tongue and then scrubbing away the grime. The new recruits gave her some funny looks as she cleaned up. Some of the old ones did too, actually. Was it because most of what needed cleaning was blood? Nepeta had been covered in blood from hunts before. _

_ Maybe they cared because it was troll blood. _

_ Even if people found her weird or creepy, Nepeta had a job to do, guiding everyone back through the forests to the cove where they left their ships. They moved as non-stop as possible for a few nights before the Chimeric gave the order that they could slow down, sufficiently distanced from any imperial pursuit. Besides, their provisions were low already and now had to support twice as many trolls. The new recruits showed a lot of what they had brought—mementos, improvised weapons and tools, a few books, and food (glorious food)—and quickly won friends among the established rebels. Nepeta also noticed the Chimeric taking some time to talk with specific members of the rebellion, though she didn’t realize what that was for until she overheard a snippet of the discussion. _

_ “…didn’t think it’d be her,” a voice said. “She was my hero, here, the one I looked up to most. I didn’t think…” _

Those are all trolls who have lost friends. _ Nepeta avoided the little circle of trolls, giving them a respectful distance. She didn’t used to think about grief so much when she was a roarbeast. Members of the pride could and did die, and then she wouldn’t see them again, but the pride as a whole kept moving. She supposed it was different when a troll died. Even if this rebellion was functionally her pride, the life of a troll came with so many more complexities and memories than the life of a roarbeast. And as far as Nepeta remembered, roarbeasts didn’t go to war. _

_ She made herself busy in other ways, following the Chimeric’s philosophy and playing matchmaker in the group, taking new and old rebels and setting them up to teach each other. Do you know how to make fire with stones? Do you know how to translate Eastern Beforan? Do you know which bushes are the best substitute load gapers? Do you know how to fix a hole in a sock? Everyone trade skills, build bonds, make friends. _

_ And this plan worked for a while, until Nepeta found a peculiar pair of trolls keeping to themselves at the edge of the camp.  _

_ “Hey, you two—you’re new, right? I’m the Tameless.” _

_ The two looked at Nepeta. One had brown eyes and very straight hair covering her forehead and framing her face. The other had wild hair, purple eyes, and white-and-gray facepaint like the Mirthful used to wear.  _ So does that mean she’s another minstrelister? _ The brownblood nodded and stuck out her hand for Nepeta to shake. “I Camellia! Hello, Tameless!” _

_ Nepeta’s chosen title sounded twice as long on Camellia’s tongue, but having once been a troll herself who struggled to speak Beforan, Nepeta accepted the handshake with a smile. “We’re glad to have you here, Camellia. And who is this?” _

_ “The Sanguine,” the purpleblooded troll answered. _

_ “Happy be here,” Camellia said, nodding earnestly. “New life! New freedom! Little rules, rules I like!” Nepeta glanced at the Sanguine, who compared to her buzzing friend looked far less happy to be here. What if the Sanguine didn’t really believe in the decalogue, and had only come along because Camellia did? Was that allowed? What should she do? _

_ “How did you two meet?” Nepeta probed. _

_ “Culler,” Camellia answered. “So bad! Not good at culler! But I hate culler so it’s okay. Kono-kusuyaro is good as my friend.” _

_ The Sanguine looked a little embarrassed, but accepted a punch on the shoulder and smiled back at Camellia’s broad grin. Nepeta nodded along, realizing that she still wished for a similar story, where Trueshot had known her pain, understood, and come with her into the wild. But how could she make him leave everything he had ever known and built? Other trolls needed him for protection far more than Nepeta did. This was for the best. _

_ “I have game!” Camellia changed the subject, probably to keep the conversation in a place where she had enough vocabulary to participate. She pulled out a small box from her pocket filled with stiff pieces of paper. “Card game! We can card game!” _

_ Nepeta didn’t know the rules to any card games, and even between the two of them, Camellia and the Sanguine had a hard time explaining it to her. They ended up in playing a much simpler game where the Sanguine took three cards—the joker, and two others—and shuffled them about on the ground for Nepeta and Camellia to guess where she hid the joker. Nepeta resisted the urge to just pounce on her skittering fingers, and guessed with Camellia: sometimes right, sometimes wrong. As they played, the Sanguine started to unwind, smiling wider and laughing a little. _

_ They passed the time nicely for a few more minutes before another voice interrupted. “Tameless, do you have a minute? We don’t have the same resources to climb up the way we climbed down, so we should forge a new path.” _

_ She turned around to look at the troll addressing her. Camellia said, “Kaimerikku-san, watashi desu yo! Oboete-imasen ka?”  _

_ The Sanguine said nothing. The Chimeric recognized the two of them, and turned a cold glare to the Sanguine. _

_ “Ee, oboete-imasu yo. Kimi no hogosha ga watashi no wo korosou to shita koto wa saa. Kanojo mo Daikunshu ni houridasaretan deshou ka? Sore demo tsuno ga nihon de aru koto wo yurusareteiru you desu ne.” Nepeta didn’t recognize the words, but she got the feeling the Chimeric was doing that ‘thing’ again where he talked about heavy concepts with a dismissive tone. _

_ “Hey, kusoyaro, this old clown’s been learning new tricks,” the Sanguine said. “Pera-PERA dazo, Ame-no-chicchan.” _

_ The Chimeric met her eyes directly. “An apology is the least of what you owe the Mirthful.” _

_ “I don’t owe him shit. He betrayed his brothers and got what he deserved.” _

_ “I’m the one you say he harmed, so my word should matter most, and  _ no one  _ deserves what you did to him—” _

_ Nepeta got to her feet to stand between the red and purple trolls. “I’ll show you how we’ll climb it in a minute. You’re needed elsewhere.” _

_ He still looked like he wouldn’t back down, so Nepeta reached out and batted at his cheek with the back of her hand. She had seen that in a movie once, and hoped the Chimeric would get the signal that she intended to mediate. After another few second, the Chimeric said “Mirai e youkoso,” and turned around to speak with someone else. _

_ “What was that?” Nepeta asked the Sanguine as she sat back down. _

_ Camellia jumped to answer first. “He’s why we friend!” She grabbed one of the Sanguine’s hands for emphasis. “I thought Sanguine crazy, hive loud, food bad, and she thought I bad, too dumb, no fun, but Chimeric helped us! Title day! We painted!” _

_ Their leader’s name turned sharp and choppy in Camellia’s accent. Nepeta scrunched up her face trying to place the memory. She had been at that titling day too, a beautiful socialite in satin and bows. She couldn’t pinpoint what Camellia was talking about until ‘we painted’ clicked. Right, there had been a pair of trolls creating a mural using sauces, condiments, and punch as paint. Nepeta pitied the troll who'd had to clean that up at the end of the night. _

_ “But what does the Mirthful have to do with this?” Nepeta asked. _

_ “Monstrous pedophile heretic,” the Sanguine growled. “We looked to him, and trusted him, and called him brother and he rolled it all through shit and filth.” _

_ “Are you the one who broke his horn?” _

_ “The Highblood did that one, but we all might as motherfucking well have done it.” The Sanguine crossed her legs and pulled her knees up. “Excommunications are ugly.” _

_ “But if you hurt the Chimeric’s moirail—” _

_ “Mother _ fucker _ , they’re still acting like that?!” _

_ “It’s not what you think!” Nepeta said. “They know it was wrong, but that doesn’t stop the way they feel. What does he say, it’s… it shouldn’t have happened, but there’s no point denying that it did, and how they feel. That’s how he says it, and I believe him.” _

_ “And what about me?” Camellia said. “We are not diamonds, but is wrong hurt you for care to me.” _

_ “…Right! What she said!” Nepeta said. “And besides, why would you come and follow the Chimeric if you hated his culler?” _

_ The Sanguine stared at the playing cards in the center, like she was trying to divine some answer from them. “…Excommunications are ugly,” she said. “Days and weeks and perigees after it happened, I tried to work my miracles. But I felt the specialness all sucked out of them. Like the excommunication was the truest worship of the Messiahs I had ever done in my whole span. In all of our spans.” She clenched her fists and struggled to keep speaking. “I can’t stay a believer in Messiahs who won’t accept paint unless it comes from a blood pusher!” _

_ Camellia patted the Sanginue’s shoulder, and Nepeta watched them for a moment longer, trying to decide what else she should say. “We’re going to spill blood too,” Nepeta said. “But at least we know it’s blood. It’s not a game, and it’s not beautiful. The beautiful part is… right now. When you get to meet someone you never would have met otherwise, and learn that they can be a friend.” _

_ The brownblood smiled at Nepeta, who stood up one more time. “I should go help some more. But I’m glad I got to speak with you!” Camellia followed Nepeta to her feet and gave her a hug, while the Sanguine stayed on the ground, but waved. As Nepeta left them to find the Chimeric, she wondered if the Mirthful already knew the Sanguine was here, and how he felt to have one of his attackers fighting on his side. _

_ When Nepeta caught up with the Chimeric, she asked, “Okay, so we need to pick a new path?” _

_“Yes, but first, there’s an errand,” he said. “Just a mile or two north. I know you simply adore accompanying me to collect rocks that will allow me to engineer the salvation of trollkind. I thought it’d be respectful to at least ask.”_  

_ Nepeta bared her fangs at him, but agreed. She’d much rather follow him on this detour than let him go alone, and chasing carved stones was much easier than dealing with the crimes of the past. _

 

* * *

 

Karkat’s elbows ached from how frantically he had pulled himself through the vents to even find out where Gamzee had gone. Sometimes the vents took three or four times longer to get him where he wanted them to. Other times, a straight vertical drop landed him a few feet away from the catastrophe he wanted to prevent. He had given himself major sweater burn from how fast hed had to drag himself just to make it in time, but he'd made it, and he’d stopped it. Any wish he had of breaking the news that he and Gamzee were moirails with tact and grace lay on the floor in pieces, but he had more important things to worry about. He had to make sure Gamzee was fine.

He hadn’t stuck around to listen to the other side much. Vriska had said Gamzee broke a lock (which lock? Karkat had never seen this fucking lock), and Terezi had gotten out half a sentence about interrogating him. He couldn’t imagine them lying about that, but Karkat felt sure they were overreacting. He knew Gamzee pretty well by now. He got his claws in the most ridiculous shit without even realizing it, and the idea of ‘personal property’ seemed like a suggestion to his pan. The kleptomaniacal culture the game encouraged didn’t help, sure, but Gamzee seemed worse at restraining himself over the last sweep. He guessed if he ever wanted the rest of the meteor to even  _ consider _ giving Gamzee a third chance, he’d need to get him more presentable than ever.

He struggled to climb up the long tube that had deposited him down. Once he found himself in more familiar paths he’d be able to find his way back to at least a transportalizer hub, which could get him back to his block and then back to the vents to find Gamzee. He could see everyone’s faces in his memories, right from the moment where he stood between them and Gamzee, and he kept cycling through them like the world’s worst flipbook. They had all looked so betrayed. But weren’t they the one doing the betraying, by giving up on the last member of the meteor’s crew. 

_ He broke my lock. We need to interrogate. _

Maybe… Gamzee had a little blame to shoulder in this. At least, the blame of not communicating what he wanted to do. He should have talked this out with Karkat. What were moirails for? And then maybe they wouldn't all have looked at Karkat like  _ he _ was the one who had committed a crime. It wasn’t a crime to reach out to someone who needed help, after all! Why was helping people a bad thing?

His body still protested, but Karkat made his way through familiar vents, knocked as usual, and arrived at Gamzee’s nest. The dim, flimsy bulb that passed for light in the space seemed to flicker more than usual, casting harsher shadows around the space. He looked first to see if he could spot where exactly Gamzee was, but everything was too dark. Did he have any kind of illuminator device in his sylladex?

“Gamzee?” he said quietly. “It’s me. Please come out.”

Nothing. Wait, was he even here? Did he come back to the nest? Did he understand that was where Karkat wanted him to be? If he was running around elsewhere he could get in even worse trouble, and it’d be Karkat’s fault, he was supposed to keep an eye on him! 

“Hey, I know this isn’t your fault, but we need to talk about what happened! You were supposed to meet me so we could go together. What happened to that?” Karkat waited for a reply, but none came. “Gamzee… I can’t help you if you don't work with me! I know it has to be hard to do something different after we forced you to live like this for so long, but you have to try! I’m doing everything I can to help you but… it’s starting to feel like you won’t help yourself!”

He finally heard Gamzee’s voice: low, dark, and accusing. “ _ Everything _ ?” And out of the corner of Karkat’s eye, he saw motion, and Gamzee emerged from the room’s shadows. Karkat froze, every inch of him screaming that he should run but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. “Then why are you here and not avenging your motherfucking moirail?”

Karkat shivered, and gripped his own shoulders to make himself stop. Gamzee might get angrier if he looked scared. “This… isn’t a vengeance problem, you chucklefuck. We agreed to meet.”

“Those motherfuckers set a trap for me.”

“Vriska said you broke into something.”

“Vriska is a slimy, unfunny liar! They fucking ambushed me, little bro, made me run for their sport, they were gonna motherfucking kill me!”

“Gamzee, please, calm down! Let’s sit and talk this out,  _ please _ …”

“Maybe we can talk if I know I’m gonna motherfucking like what you have to say.”

_ Oh god, oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… _ That tone made Karkat want to cry and vomit and run all at the same time. He had fucked up, he had fucked the  _ fuck  _ up and there was no one to help him, no one to save him.

But he was here to save Gamzee. He could handle this. He had to. Deep breaths. Just take some big, deep breaths and try not to think about what had just happened or what might happen if he fucked this up. And in the meantime, the silence stretched on as he tried to decide what to say.

He decided on his opening statement. “I want things to get better,” Karkat said slowly. “I want to get you out of these vents, back with your friends. I want to win this fucking game, because it’s taken so much from us and at this point I think we’ve earned an ultimate reward or two. I want you to be part of the new universe we get. That’s what you want too, right?”

Gamzee said nothing. Karkat couldn’t even hear his breathing as proof he was still there.

“Right?! Gamzee, please tell me that’s something you want! Hello?!”

“Shoosh your motherfucking shout pipe,” Gamzee told him, but he couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be reassuring. “What you’re saying sounds like the greatest miracle to ever happen. But I got my question on to why those motherfucking aliens and unfunny bitches have to be the ones calling these shots.”

“That’s what being a fucking  _ team _ is about—”

“You still believe in ‘teamwork?’ After everyone fell to motherfucking pieces under your watch? They’re probably blaming you even worse right now, since you let me get away from their murder-claws. Why in the motherfucking shit would you want anything to do with a team that hates your guts and mine?”

Karkat closed his eyes to try and force through this. “We can  _ fix _ it, we just have to… have to apologize—”

“Apologize?! Did my aurals just get their hear on to you suggesting that we motherfucking  _ apologize _ to them!?”

Gamzee sounded so close, and so far, like he was echoing in a cavernous room and whispering right in Karkat’s ear at the same time.

“I wanna give you a chance to correct that motherfucking thinking of yours. You’re my moirail, so I would  _ assume _ that means you’re with me til the end, little bro. Now… what’s it gonna be?”

_ He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, like Equius, like Nepeta, fucking hell, holy fucking shit Vantas, hold it together, you can do this! _ “It’s not an either-or situation. I want you to apologize  _ because _ I’m with you. This is how things get better.”

“What do you know about making things better?! Everything you ever did only made things WORSE!” 

The last word, shouted, made Karkat cover his ears and try and coil back. He fucked up, he fucked up so bad, and all he could do was whimper ‘I’m sorry.’ For a few seconds, Karkat listened to his own trembling voice, frantically apologizing. Then Gamzee spoke again. “Get the motherfuck out of here.”

“G-Gamzee, please, I want to help—“

A hand caught around his neck, crushing like a pincer, and forced him back until his head hit the wall behind him with a  _ crack _ . Pain swam through his head, from its back and its stump, as he scrambled to free himself. But on some level, he didn’t think he could.

“I SAID get the MOTHERFUCK OUT!”

The hand released him, and Karkat tried to breathe again, feeling his wind pipe rattling in his own throat. Running on fear alone, Karkat dropped to the ground and crawled until he found the vent exit, leaving his mad moirail behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thanks once more to MostlyHarmless for translation assistance!!!
> 
> \- This motherfucker  
> \- Chimeric, it's us! Remember?  
> \- I remember your protector nearly killed mine. Did the Grand One throw her out too? It looks like she was allowed to keep both her horns if she was.  
> \- Motherfucker... I speak words good, candy-blood.  
> \- Welcome to the future.


	38. Fairest and Fallen

After Gamzee’s Vantas-assisted escape, everyone trudged over to that room Vriska said he had broken into to take stock of what might be missing. The oh-so-impenetrable slot machine lock had been busted open, with an imprint that looked like it had been hit with a fucking cannon ball. Dave had to wonder why no one had heard the lock itself breaking after a blow like that, though Vriska’s message-alert had done the job. 

There wasn’t much in the room as a whole. A half dozen chests lay around a space easily twice as big as it needed to be for the job, and one chest had its lid popped. Vriska looked into the others, furtively blocking their contents, and reported that all Gamzee had gotten away with were the timeboxes.

“That sounds like an incredibly serious loss,” Kanaya said. 

“He can’t use them until we reach the new session, unless he wants his guts stretched across the Furthest Ring. We have time to recover them.” Vriska said. “Lalonde, good job getting him out of the vents. Can you try that again?”

“I suppose it’s possible, but my range may be too small to force him out of the vents permanently. There’s no telling how many safehouses he has built into the ventilation system as a whole, and what else he might have done to put up defenses.”

Dave wanted to say something about how Karkat probably knew where Gamzee was, but the idea itself felt slimy, like it was too gross to say. This explained why Karkat was so unavailable all the fucking time, but in a weird way Dave had kind of preferred not knowing.

“We’ve gotten the jump on him before, we’ll do it again,” Vriska said. “Let me just get a new lock going, and maybe add some anti-lockbreaker features. Fussyfangs, what would you say to a booby trap that launches chainsaws at anyone who fails to pull a jackpot?”

“It sounds stupid and terrible.”

“Come on, at least give me the human sarcasm treatment.”

Kanaya took a deep breath and forced a thin smile on her face. “Yes, Vriska, I think it’s completely necessary that you add outlandish weaponry to an already excessively impractical locking mechanism. I cannot envision any negative consequences for an action like this.”

“That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s fire up the alchemiters!”

Dave didn’t want to fire up any alchemiters. He kind of wanted to lie down on the ground and not move. Like, they had just gone through a really heavy battle, and Gamzee had gotten away with some mission-critical shit, and apparently Karkat was a juggalo now (or at least a juggalo sympathizer) and completely out of nowhere he remembered a dream where he was a crow and he flew into the sun like a piece of fucking garbage. That probably had nothing to do with the situation at hand or his feelings about it.

Something long and straight knocked Dave’s shins. “How about we regroup later? I think Mr Red Delicious needs a bladekind refresher. His technique looked a little sloppy out there.”

“What technique? We just had to look threatening enough for murderclown to keep heading toward certain doom.”

Terezi clicked her tongue. “I don’t know, as your fairy god troll, I think you need some _serious_ time in the ring.” She poked her cane up, making a tent in the back of Dave’s cape like she had hung him on a hook. “Step lively, Dave! The sooner we start the sooner it’s over!”

Dave figured he wouldn’t get any traction asking Terezi to cut him some slack with the rest of the team watching, so he shuffled out of the room to make his case later. At least going to sparring practice gave him an easy out for dealing with Vriska. He wondered what strategy Rose and Kanaya might use. Lesbian makeouts might work, but their potency would be lessened by the fact trolls had no idea what lesbians were and thought girls kissing was just something people did.

_This is not a problem._

But Gamzee might be a problem.

He and Terezi popped through a few transportalizers. He could see Terezi manically grinning, but over what he didn’t know. What about the last thirty minutes had been worth smiling about?

“What’s with the crocodile smile.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you happy to see Karkat jumping to the aid of a stupid juggalo?”

“I think the more interesting question is why does Karkat’s choice to stop us from making clown kebabs make _you_ so sad?”

“Because Karkat is too cool for that shitty rap-Faygo remix.”

“Since when was Karkat cool?”

“He’s cooler than you right now.”

Terezi arrived at the de facto sparring room and opened the door, letting Dave inside. “Whenever you’re ready, you can have the first blow,” she told him.

Dave opened his mouth to say yeah, no, he wasn't in the mood for Sparsy McSparserface, but hesitated. If he just never made the first blow, then they’d never have a fight. So he and Terezi could sit here indefinitely. “Thanks, I’m good,” Dave said, sitting down on a huge pipe feeding carapacian clone slime from its mysterious origin to its puzzling end. “Why do you think he took the timeboxes?” he asked, mostly to himself.

“You know better than anyone the potent uses of time travel. Maybe he wants to usurp you as the ultimate controller of the LOHACSE and assert himself as a zillyonaire.”

“Not a fucking chance, the LOHACSE doesn’t have any money left in it for him to pilfer, not even with exploitative time loops. The cash is mine, bitch. Bow down to the Knight of Cash Money.”

Terezi giggled. “That would be a pretty nice title for you, cool kid! What about me?”

“Seer of Fuck All.”

“I’m pretty sure that's an insult, not a compliment.”

“Nah, it’s all in the inflection. You can say it as the Seer of ‘fuck, ALL!’ Like look at all this ‘all’ I’m seeing, fuck, there’s so much of it…”

“You’re not selling me on it. Shall I dub thee Knight of Bullshit?”

“Won’t stick.”

“Perhaps I’ll get a court order to have it legally changed!” Terezi said, adding a devious cackle.

“Okay, what the fuck is up with this, you know I’m half-assing this and I just really don’t want to be dealing with these mind games right now. Aren’t you even a little bit worried about Karkat?”

“Are you?”

“I asked first!”

“How about I answer your question if you answer one of mine first?”

“Fine, what.”

“Do you have a crush on Karkat?”

“No.” The reflex answered before Dave could, whether he wanted to tell the truth or not.

Terezi sniffed in his direction, making sure her nostrils whistled. “Hmmm, nope. That stinks a bit too much for me to call it truth!”

“Fine, I’m spades-crushin’ on him. I wanna punch his face in, romantically, because he sucks.”

“That’s more believable than your denial, but it still doesn’t ring true yet.”

“You never specified that I had to tell you the truth.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Nope. And it’s not like you can time-travel to help fact-check yourself. So what’s your answer to my question?”

“Fine. Yes, I am worried about our little nubby friend.”

“Okay, so we’re in agreement. What are we going to do about it?”

“What do you mean, do about it? Isn’t it Karkat’s choice who he’s friends with?”

“But the whole point of this trial was because Gamzee might not even want to be on our side. He might be working to destroy the universe instead of save it.”

“An excellent point, but the court would like to know why Gamzee, who presumably needs a universe to reside in, would want to destroy it.”

Dave sighed to himself, wishing that talking to Terezi didn’t feel so much like joining a debate team. “Maybe he just wants to help one of the assholes we’re going to find, like Jack or the Condesce or Laser Lightshow Jack that dead Jake told us about. The universe will survive but it’ll be an objectively shittier place.”

“That’s one way to think about it, yes.”

“But I just still don’t get it, why… why any of it. Is this a troll thing?”

“It could be ‘a troll thing,’ but I’m a little lost for context.”

“Well, Karkat has been missing in action for ages, and it takes something on par with an imperial Vris-cree to get him to do anything. Never seen anyone dodge their friends so hard in all my life.”

“Those are true facts, yes. So what are you saying?”

“Is there a troll quadrant for when you roll over and submit yourself to a murderous clown’s unicycle drive-by steamrolling?”

“He’s riding a unicycle that’s also a steamroller…?”

“Shut up. And tell me what the actual word is for what I’m trying to describe.”

“Just because you asked _sooooo_ nicely, cool kid,” Terezi stuck her tongue out at him. “Karkat might be attempting to make himself Gamzee’s moirail. Which isn’t the worst tactical-romantic decision he could make overall.”

Dave gaped at Terezi for a second. “Wait, being a clown’s boyfriend _isn’t_ the worst decision possible?”

“Look, this was something really common on Alternia! Lots of moirallegiances were based on a more rational party preventing a vicious party from engaging in senseless violence. Like, it was never a perfect catch-all, but it had to have been one of the reasons trolls on Alternia didn’t go completely extinct. Karkat might be trying to act as the balancer to Gamzee so he’ll stop being so crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s working out too good.”

“I don’t think so either, but I can’t fault him for trying.”

Dave fell silent again. He remembered dozens of talks he and Karkat'd had where Karkat had tried to explain the nuances of the quadrant system and Dave had deliberately gotten it all wrong, just to fuck with him. Maybe he wasn’t an expert after an education like that, but one fact stood out to Dave: that if he had any kind of feelings for Karkat, Dave would have to share him with Gamzee.

“I can practically smell the smoke coming off of your think pan over there. Don’t blow an idea circuit,” Terezi taunted.

“I won’t, I’m fine. It’s just… you told me that you’re worried about Karkat, but you said he’s not making a huge romantactical mistake.”

“Oh, I never said that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I was very careful in my word choice this time, because I knew you’d want to be some kind of lame stickler about it. It’s still a very bad mistake for Karkat to try and be Gamzee’s moirail, but it’s not the _worst_ choice he could have made.”

“What’s worse?”

“Do you _really_ care about that answer?”

“Kinda?”

“ _Really_?”

“…No.” Dave said. “But Troll ‘It’ has to realize he’s got a meat shield moirail now, right? So long as he’s got Karkat around we’re not going to hurt him. Or, Karkat won’t let us hurt him.”

“That’s true, but I think it’s going to be more important than ever for us to reach out to Karkat. Maybe Gamzee will never be on our side, but we can’t let Karkat forget we’re on his. Do you think you’re up for the task, cool kid?”

“Is this going to require like, sincere expressions of genuine emotions?”

“And maybe asking Karkat out on that ambiguously categorized date would be nice. If you end up feeling pale or purple or nothing for him you can just claim alien ignorance of our culture. I’m sure Karkat would be forgiving.”

Dave stood up and meandered over toward Terezi, his hands in his pockets. He had a sense that continuing to talk about this would only lead to wheel-spinning and embarrassing confessions that he had only just started to feel comfortable making to himself. When he drew closer, he pulled one hand out of his pocket and extended a single pointer finger.

“Swoosh,” he said aloud, swinging his hand around, and then poked Terezi in the chest. “Stab. One point to Strider.”

Terezi laughed and put up both her hands, a finger extended on each one. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? En garde!”

Dave took up a sparring stance, but held out his finger again instead of a sword. This wouldn’t be enough to beat anyone for real, but it was what he could do now. And someday, it’d be all he needed to do.

 

* * *

 

 _“Your Radiance, it’s not my intention to divert the conversation to rumors, but I think having an answer would benefit my cullees greatly. Can you please… ‘address’ the testimony of the reinforcementers who survived the Chimeric’s attack?”_  

_Feferi wondered if anyone in her court knew how much the knife still lodged in her heart twisted every time someone tried to bring the topic up. “This is not the best use of our time together. An Architect will be in contact with you within the week to begin discussions about renovations. That is my decree.”_

_The troll picked at his clawbeds, hopeful eyes turned toward her throne for a minute longer, before he bowed and stepped aside and Feferi called the next supplicant. She had no doubt that the next troll would find a way to slip in a reference to the attack in Usukatik, and she’d give them the exact same answer, and then they’d leave, and another would come. Dodging the answer to one troll would frustrate them, but the longer court went on, the more anxious the noble attendants became. They heard her deny comment again and again and again, and the longer she avoided it, the stronger their panic grew._

_‘The seadweller’ was all anyone wanted to talk about in response to the attack. Not the hundred and thirty-three reinforcementers who had surrendered their lives in service of their Empress. Not the seven identified rebels who had been slain following a dangerous ideocrat. Not the hundreds of trolls who lost friends, quadrantmates, cullers, cullees—either to death or social abandonment—and the aching hole left by their absence. No, they had heard rumors of one testimony from one frightened soldier about one finned face, and everyone wanted to know who._

_Feferi knew who. And people were starting to catch on._

_A single supplicant passed without even mentioning the attack, and Feferi cherished the moment to breathe. She wasn’t sure she had given an appropriate long-term solution to the issue at hand, but at least she was governing. She was keeping the lights on. She could keep the sun blocked and the hives warm and the walls strong. But it was starting to dawn on Feferi how it would never be enough. She had dreamed of doing so much more, thriving instead of treading water, but with no support how was she supposed to achieve it all?_

_“Your… Radiance?”_

_She straightened her spine and snapped back to attention._ Govern. _“Yes, how may I assist?”_

_Feferi looked into the face of an oliveblood with wide-pointed horns. He gripped a piece of teal fabric between his hands, and though his face looked young, it looked dry and pained. Feferi realized he must have been crying. She knew that face all too well herself._

_“I’m… I’m the Arborist. And I had a culler. The Advocate.” Feferi’s heart sank—she had seen that name on a very long list of trolls who were never coming back—but she fought to mask it. “He did his service, he… he was called for emergency leadership… deployment of… unprecedented force. To rescue those… abducted.” The Arborist gripped his memento harder. The room was so silent Feferi practically heard the threads stretch and twist. “He was a protector… I felt safe with him… I felt happy…”_

_“From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry for your loss,” Feferi said. It was all she could say using words._

_The Arborist wrung the teal fabric more. “Your Radiance, I… I want the truth. I want to know what the Advocate died for! If what people are saying is true, what did any of them die for?!”_

_Feferi clenched her hand around her trident, drawing strength from its ancient shaft. Countless Empresses before her had borne this burden and so would she. “It is not the purpose of this court to discuss speculation—”_

_“Give me peace, Compasse!” the Arborist interrupted. His dried-out eyes twisted into slits but they could cry no more. “Tell me what the Advocate died for! Did he die rescuing an innocent or fighting a traitor!? Please answer me, I have to know what he died for!”_

_Someone had dared say it, and it could not be un-said. The elites surrounding the court turned their faces to Feferi. The hundreds of eyes watching her felt like thousands. Felt like millions. Felt like Eridan’s._

_Feferi stood and turned to lean her trident against her throne. Only the throne had a clear path to descend into the center of court with the supplicant. She stood a foot or so taller than the young greenblood, and he seemed to shrink from her as she approached._

_“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Feferi told him. “Your pain is my pain, Arborist. I feel this same hurt for everyone who died that night. They all died fighting for what they believed in, and I can’t forget their sacrifice for a minute.”_

_She held her arms open, and the Arborist stepped into them, sniffing and no doubt rubbing mossy tears on her dress. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the fate of a dress when she held the fate of a troll in her hands. She wished she could cry too, just to remember what it felt like for someone to be there for her when she cried, but her tears wouldn’t come. And she couldn’t cry in front of these trolls who depended on her. She had to govern._

_The Arborist didn’t have many tears left, but he pulled back with a kind of confused anticipation in his eyes. Feferi gave him a small smile and nod, before she stepped away from the embrace and addressed the hall as a whole._

_“First, an apology is in order,” Feferi said. “All information that I conceal is for the good of trollkind. It is never my intention to deceive, nor do I take joy in the act. Perhaps my silence stems from wishful thinking, an optimistic luxury that none of us can afford any longer.”_

_A hundred eyes. A thousand eyes. Eridan’s eyes. The eyes of Naelia, which Feferi still saw every time she saw a mirror. Naelia had patted her head and told her, ‘Feferi, we are hatched for greatness, but greatness is never easy.’ But did it have to be this hard?_

_“The document the Chimeric circulated to our beautiful Beforus is appealing to many, I understand. Freedom, opportunity, and glory speak to those who have suffered and want an answer to their problems. A radical, untested way of life. I have read this decalogue through and through and I understand why it sings to a piece of us that has been ignored or hurt. But this decalogue of freedom is the doctrine of narcissism! As one species under the Mother Grub, there is no way that trolls can exist following the social order that the Chimeric has proposed for us all! We are a mighty species because when we see one of our own suffering, we reach out a hand to help, unconditionally! The Chimeric has proposed a world where all care is given only after the question is answered, ‘how will this benefit me?’”_

_The trolls in the hall didn’t speak. It must have been a century or more since Feferi had argued in such explicit terms for culling._

_“And with this truth in mind, I must recognize a truth that I have been running from. The Seafarer, my moirail… is not the captive of the Chimeric. He fights to end culling and create a rule of selfishness, struggle, and pain. He no longer acts in service of trollkind but seeks its destruction. For this reason, I must re-name him here.”_

_She tilted her face up, unable to look any individual face in the eyes, and in some way, pretending that Eridan could hear her._

_“Her Radiant Compassion decrees from this day hence: the Seafarer shall be stripped of his titles. He shall be stripped of his name. And I rename him here… the Betrayer!”_

_The eyes continued to stare at her, and she felt each and every one like a tangle of seaweed trying to drag her into the depths. She wanted to run again, cry again, but she had to finish this. “And I vow, the Betrayer will meet his punishment for crimes against our beloved Beforus!”_

_Feferi’s words echoed until silence returned. She looked to the Arborist, seeing shock and empathy on his face, before she turned away and took up her trident again._

_“Court will reconvene tomorrow! All are now dismissed!” And suddenly voices broke out again, everyone shouting for direction, instruction, what to do in this new reality. Whatever they did, Feferi at least hoped they would do it together. She hoped no one else would kill for the Chimeric’s sake, and no one else would die at the Seafarer’s—no, the Betrayer’s hands._


	39. Cumulative Mistakes

The instant Karkat reached his block, with the wide space and tall ceilings, he curled in on himself and let his tears fall. The choking feeling around his neck stayed, like Gamzee’s hand was still there, and it still hurt. He tried to take deep breaths, but that made it burn more. 

_ He just did that. _

Was his turtleneck making it worse? It had to be putting pressure on his throat, why else would it still be burning so fucking bad? Karkat reached his arms behind him to grab fistfuls of wool, tugging it over his head to throw on the floor. As the chill wrapped around his torso, Karkat reached up a hand to curiously brush against the burning around his neck. It stung, so he pulled back.

_ He just did that. _

Karkat couldn’t think about that. He just took off his sweater, so he needed something else to warm himself with. He should find a snuggleplane. What about in his sylladex? A quick rummage through his cards showed he had no such surface there, so he moved to one of the repurposed chests to see if he had left one in there. He found a few pillows, nice, and he had his pile of movies and books in the corner. A troll alone in a pile was sad on so many levels but he didn’t have other options right now. Better arrange those pillows as warmly as possible and then pull the rest of his garbage around himself. And maybe… take a nap?

_ He just— _

On second thought, no. Fuck that. Fuck all of that, Karkat couldn’t just sit still, he was going to go insane if he did. What could he do? Check messages, of course! See if anyone had anything  _ nice _ to say after their mad trollhunt through the meteor. Since he had the husktop proper nearby, he moved to the screen and almost turned it on.

His own reflection on the dark glass stopped him. He recognized his hair, his horns, his face, and his bare shoulders, but he could  _ see _ the marks on his neck. It had a shape: a palm, a thumb reaching one way, four long fingers reaching the other.

_ He just _ —

Karkat hit the ‘on’ button for his husktop and turned away while it booted up. God, he felt like a wiggler again, like when he had first learned that his blood was something monstrous and wrong, and hid in the deepest block his hive had for three whole days. His lusus had only rooted him out because they were out of roe. And now he missed his lusus all over again. His throat was burning and he wanted someone to stand between him and the things that hurt him.

What was he supposed to do when the one who protected him hurt him?

Karkat heard some pinging sounds behind him as he auto-logged in to Trollian, so he turned around to see who it was. The username arachnidsGrip was online, sending Karkat a stream of agitated messages with gradually more vowels replaced with 8’s. Insu8ordin8, 8sel8ss, tr8t8r, tw8-t8m8r, the words just blurred in front of his eyes as he got a terrible sense that, if he replaced the typing quirk and turned the words gray, he’d be listening to his own past self.

_ They don’t need you after all. And he just— _

Karkat slapped the husktop shut again. No one else had anything to say and the last thing he needed was Vriska yelling at him. And he was still cold! And his throat  _ still  _ hurt, every breath and swallow moved the bruise and made it burn. Did taking off his sweater even help anything? With the knowledge he could just alchemize a new one, Karkat took his sickles and carved the turtleneck off of his sweater, opening the head hole far wider than it was ever meant to go. That slipped back over his head, and at least solved the ‘cold’ problem.

_ 'Solving problems?' Gamzee just— _

Karkat clenched his fists until he had a pain in his hands to distract from the one around his neck. He shouldn’t think about this. Just… give Gamzee some time to cool off, then go back, get the full story on why he lost his shit, get back the ‘whatever’ everyone else thinks he stole, and fix this. He could fix this, right? He had to, this was his mess in the first place.

Three sharp raps sounded against the door to his block. “Karkat? Are you there? I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

God, that was Kanaya. Karkat felt ready to burst into tears again, she came to talk to him! A dozen moments through the game and beyond where Kanaya’s calm, steady influence helped him think rose to the surface of his think pan. She’d know what to do, how to help—

“…”  Trying to speak felt like dragging knives across his vocal cords. He coughed, but that was worse.

“Karkat? Please, I just want to talk. I know Vriska is furious but her reaction is completely disproportionate.”

“…!” He managed a wheeze, but that wouldn’t be audible to an outsider. 

“Are you… angry with us, too?” Kanaya asked through the door.

He mustered up all his willpower and tried a third time. “N…!” His voice sounded like a squeaky hinge being oiled with shards of glass, and the closer he approached to a word, the tighter the bruise felt around his neck, like Gamzee’s hand was squeezing his throat all over again.

Then it hit Karkat: if he opened the door to let Kanaya in, she’d see the bruise. She’d hear his voice. She’d ask questions. She’d tell the others and then Gamzee would be hunted all over again, and all of Karkat’s sacrifice to try and rehabilitate him would be wasted. And the same thing would happen if she heard his voice. Questions, fear, blame, failure.

Kanaya knocked again, harder, but Karkat didn’t try to speak this time. He just sunk to his knees and hugged his elbows, waiting for Kanaya to leave. She said his name and knocked a few more times, but eventually she left. Karkat fell over and curled up like a pupa on the floor. Maybe if he made a small enough ball he’d just disappear and no one would have to suffer his presence ever again. Never mind that he wanted Kanaya to chainsaw his door down and hug him and let him cry on her shoulder until he felt less like the shittiest person in the universe.

_ So on top of being a shitty moirail, you’re an unfaithful one too? Class act, Karkat. _

Eventually, he found a pattern of breathing that let him largely forget about the bruise on his neck. And the fact he had been trying to avoid came back: Karkat’s moirail had just hurt him. He had bruises on his body from his  _ moirail _ . That wasn’t supposed to happen. Moirails protected each other. Karkat protected Gamzee, so why did he…

He felt on the verge of tears again and tried to pull his train of thought back. This wasn’t as bad as he thought. It wasn’t Gamzee’s fault in the first place, not really. The others had scared him, set him on edge and made whatever paranoid nightmare monster lurked in his head come out full force. This was just… evidence of how far Gamzee had come. He really did feel better in Karkat’s presence, he said so. Karkat should have just anticipated this better. Maybe he should have told the others sooner about how easy it was to scare Gamzee, or had fought for the right to set when the trial would be, to ensure Gamzee was in a good mood. There are so many things he could have done to fix this.

But why stop there? What if he had stopped Gamzee from killing in the first place? What if he had stopped Eridan? Stopped Vriska? Made a proper Genesis Frog and not a tumorous tadpole fated to wipe from existence everything he ever created? What if he had been a real leader? He knew so many people who had done it right: John, the Condesce, the Sufferer, the Chimeric, Vriska. All those people had damn near nothing in common and but they  _ all  _ did or were doing a better job than Karkat Fuck-Up Vantas.

He crawled over to the pile again, picking a book out of its mass and opening it to a random page, just to give his hands something to grip instead of his own skin. All he could think was how right Gamzee had been. Karkat was a fuck-up, and recognizing that, it felt nice to know there was someone who wouldn’t just let him get away with his constant failures. Gamzee held him accountable in a way no one else did.

_ I guess serendipity is supposed to hurt. _

 

* * *

 

When Kanaya said she wanted to reach out to Karkat, Rose wanted to give her space. Dave and Terezi had gone off together, which Rose surmised would be beneficial to whatever the fuck Dave ‘I’m totally chill with everything’ Strider was freaking out about today. One of these days Rose might have to formally revoke his stoic cool kid license, since Dave was obviously unqualified to hold it. Maybe she’d ask him to turn in his shades too. 

That silly train of thought carried her through a few hallways as she started spinning the Light around inside her head to deduce all that was happening. She had to figure out what had  _ changed _ . Moirallegiance was almost certainly in play. She could clearly remember Karkat referencing the difficulty of calming Gamzee down, which seemed to fit the general tone of the pale quadrant best, and it would explain Karkat’s insistence that the trial be gentle and lenient. But through all their research concerning Beforus and having seen Karkat’s reaction to the pale relationship between his and Gamzee’s alternate selves, Rose had thought that Gamzee repulsed Karkat. 

_ What changed? _

The missing piece teased her like a good mystery. Had Gamzee solicited Karkat? Enticed him? With what? Karkat would need to be susceptible for some reason. Trouble with Terezi? Or trouble with Dave? What could Dave have done? Surely Rose would have noticed if her ecto-brother had fucked up and driven Karkat into the arms of an alien juggalo cultist. But then again, she had been pretty perpetually inebriated for a period there. What if the change had occurred while she wasn’t quite at the top of her game? That posed a concerning threat to Rose’s ability to figure out what’s going on. Maybe Kanaya was paying better attention. Or maybe Terezi? Certainly not Vriska, with how enraged she became when she had realized that Karkat held any kind of sympathy for Gamzee, enough to interfere with her hunt. Or knowing Vriska, perhaps she felt angrier that someone had kept her from winning the game of the hour. Pathological competitiveness could be a useful trait for victory if they (Terezi) could manage it well.

Her foot crunched on a stick, giving her pause to look around. She saw idyllic white clouds on a blue sky—Earth-like—and a row of small stores ahead of her, placed close to a peaceful suburban neighborhood. Fuck, Rose had walked straight into another dreambubble and not even realized it. She supposed this meant it was time to try and glean whatever she could from the preserved imprints of the deceased, but even after a somewhat-successful journey accompanied by Kanaya, she just didn’t feel like it. She wanted to stay in a boring industrial hallway so she could  _ focus _ , dammit. If she had to choose a place filled with distractions, Rose would have chosen one of the libraries. At least that would fit her aesthetic.

Rose squared her jaw and made a decision. The dreambubbles might want to take her somewhere, but that didn’t require Rose to pay attention to where she was going. She’d maintain enough awareness to avoid any major threat, but she would continue her meditative pacing around unabated.

Now. What was she thinking about again?

Right, the reason Karkat would want to engage with Gamzee in the pale quadrant. The best Light-assisted guess Rose could make was that something had reframed Karkat’s understanding of the events of ancient Beforus in such a way that inspired him to search for glimmers of the Mournful within his more recent, more murderous incarnation. Or should she really consider the Mournful less murderous, when they knew his retaliation against the Huntsman had been swift and bloody? Never mind that thread, Rose could pick it up again later. But what information could have caused Karkat to reverse his opinion in the first place? Would it help Rose to find the source? What else could be learned from it? Would such a source give insight into how to proceed? Was it a source she could find on her own, or would she need to convince Karkat to recount it? And what would force him to do such a thing, when all of his evasive behavior so far suggested a fear that his teammates would not understand his decision to reach out to Gamzee in this manner?

Rose would have to take up the Sherlock role herself and begin asking some more interrogative questions of those around her. When was the last time anyone remembered Karkat being fully engaged in the mission, and whose recollections were most recent? Rose herself last remembered Karkat being fully engaged with the group shortly after meeting the ghost of the Seafarer, when he had taken great personal offense to the very concept that he would ever feel pale for Gamzee. If it didn’t have such terrible consequences for the continued existence of reality, Rose would have found enjoyment in that particular brand of narrative irony.

She took note of the ground beneath her feet changing from a sidewalk, to a desert, to Derse, and she kept thinking. She would definitely need a timeline of Karkat’s acrobatic departure from the proverbial boat, and she was really overdue for a calibration of the ancient Beforan timeline, given all they had learned and known. Rose had been a little preoccupied with possibly dating Kanaya ( _ I have a girlfriend _ ) to really keep up with that, but she could probably take some of this dreambubble-wandering time to find a quiet place to break out her enormous book and purple pen. If this memory was more-or-less intact, Rose knew exactly what spire library she’d want to visit to make it happen—

Even staring at the floor, Rose didn’t realize a leg had entered her field of vision until her foot caught on it. Then she was falling, and she flung out her arms to fly her way out of faceplanting on the ground. Then a voice half-shouted, half-spat, “Nooo! Shitsiththishtshit, my extra  _ life _ !”

Rose tucked her legs in to be free of the tripwire limb and lowered them back to the ground only when she was sure the area was safe. The obstacle-body actually belonged to a ghost that Rose didn’t see much of, accompanied by another person whose path Rose rarely crossed. Pings and beeps rang out from a handheld game console, which Mituna Captor clutched in his hands and abused with his thumbs. Latula sat beside him, cheering, “Come on dude, you  _ got _ this, keep going! WOOO!”

Well, this was embarrassing, but at least it looked like neither of them wanted to comment on Rose’s ‘wipeout.’ Though she had still better apologize. “Sorry that I cost you a life, Mituna.”

Latula waved a hand at Rose. “Save it, he’s in the zone! Go high, go high!”

“M’ _ trynninng _ !”

Rose supposed she could just go on her way and hope they forgot about her interruption of their video game, but something stopped her. It felt akin to a strong breeze pressing against her back, not preventing so much as discouraging her from going in a certain direction. Were the dreambubbles trying to function like the clouds of Skaia, showing her what she needed more than what she wanted? She remembered Jade—dear Jade, who would need to be rescued back to her old self before this was over—and how if she felt such a push, she would jump and follow it.

“What are you playing?” Rose asked, shifting a little closer.

“Mega Bullet Armageddon,” Latula answered.

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s cool, it’s pretty retro, but my man Mit-hizzy has got the  _ skillz _ to show it who’s  _ boooooss _ !” She cheered a little more, and then gasped. “Aah, careful!”

Mituna made a… noise. Like a shriek strangled by a growl behind his clenched teeth. And then the game made the pings and beeps of someone not quite showing it who’s boss. And then a very sad little jingle played and Mituna threw the handheld console across the Dersite alley. “FFFUKCING GHIT—SHIT!”

He raised his hands like he was going to strike them against his helmet, but Latula reached out to intervene. She took hold of his hands and rose her voice above her matesprit’s spitting. “Tuna, Tuna, Tuna, hey, hey-hey-hey, hey, don’t go whacking your pan over this! It’s cool! You did so good!”

“NNNNGHGHNOOO…”

“Yes, yes you did! That was  _ rad _ to the maxxx! With  _ three _ x’s!” Latula’s eyebrows appeared over her shades, bouncing suggestively.

Mituna snickered, shocked out of his rage-loss for a moment, but he still looked very tense and upset. But Latula had one more trick up her sleeve.

“Yo, dude, look over there.” She pointed in the distance, and Mituna twitched his head to look. Before he could even ask what she wanted him to look at, she planted a kiss on his cheek. The sting of loss suppressed or at least ignored for now, Mituna kept laughing, nasal but unfiltered, and flung his arms around Latula for a side hug.

Rose smiled. “Smooth,” she said. She wondered if the trick would be deceptively simple enough to work on Kanaya, who as Rose had yet to remember in the last thirty minutes, was her girlfriend.

“Latulap’s the best, and egryvone else can suck it,” Mituna announced. One of his hands slipped down and gave Latula’s ‘rumble sphere’ a squeeze, which made Rose suddenly become very interested in the thing Latula had pointed at earlier. Actually, maybe she should go and fetch the aggressively discarded handheld console… Though if she ever felt possessed by a more crass kind of smooth, that trick might work as well.

“Here you go, if you want to try again,” Rose returned it to Latula, wary of when she should bolt if things continued to become sexualized.

Mituna grimaced at the game. “Fuck no, it’s a buggy piece of shit.”

“You call every game a buggy piece of shit,” Latula smiled.

“Fuck all the games! We shluld go do saketboards.”

“Hey, no, you’re still on skateboard cooldown after the last time…” Latula reversed the hug around her shoulders to try and coax Mituna into leaning against her a little more. “We’ll shred up some of these railings later, ‘kay bee?”

Compelled to jump in and follow her own curiosity, Rose asked, “Is there ever a game you’ve played that wasn’t bugged?”

Mituna shook his helmeted head. “Nuhhh. Fuck no.”

“Would you have rather built your own games? Then you could make sure you quashed every single bug before playing.”

He shook his head harder. “Nuoooh, nooo, can’t fcuking tlell where the bugs are, too small…”

“Hey, you just gotta give it a shot, man,” Latula comforted him, but Rose had a strange feeling Mituna was talking about something else.

“Was this a specific game you were asked to debug?” Rose asked.

“Mnnneeehah told me to,” he said. “She fuund the thing on the moon and it didn’t fit together but she wanted to play… Menah’s a huge bitch, Lutala.”

“I know, bee, I know.” But even Latula looked a little curious. “I mean, the bugs in our Sgrub weren’t so bad. Like, not compared to the humans, with that huge bomb in the middle of their session! Like, what was  _ up _ with that business?”

“Nothin’ big,” Mituna said. “Nothing big.”

“Whatever Mituna is talking about, there’s really no way that any errors in your session could have been as great as the errors in ours, since it was a by-product of the cancer inherent in our universe,” Rose explained.

“Woah, yeah, that’s totally huge. You dudes are so fucking skilled you survived.”

“It was mostly luck and planning,” Rose said. “But, Mituna—do you mind if I ask about your game’s code?”

He moved his mouth around, nothing that looked quite like a smile, but he seemed agreeable to the idea.

“You said Meenah found the game on the moon, but it didn’t fit together. Do you think that’s what created the bugs?”

“NO.” Mituna said loudly. “The cracks, I could fill cracks, fill cracks all nignth long, wihtfh the… haxxorizing… But I just did cracks. There were wrongs in the rest of it. G-C-G-A-T-G-A-T-G-A-G- _ K _ …”

Rose sat up on her knees, a combination clicking together in her head. “Your session had a tumor in it, too.”

“Nnnyyeah.” Mituna wrung his hands, and he looked regretful. “Didd’t see it, cuz Mennah wanted to play so fast…”

“Wait, what makes you think we had a tumor?” Latula asked.

Mituna turned his grasping hands onto Latula instead. “A-C-A-G-C-G—G-G-C-C-G- _ K _ ! There were only… lieke… Ghhghgnnhg,  _ billions _ of codes, the good letters, and mayeb six K’s! But they made something!”

“It might have been something that saved you,” Rose spoke up. “The tumor of our session was an enormous bomb, so if the story is true that Meenah used an explosive to kill you and spare you from the Scratch, then those faults in the game code ensured your survival.” She tried to catch Mituna’s eyes behind his visor. “You’re a hero, for not correcting that strain. A little cancer was what your session needed. To save all your friends and let your dancestors win their game.”

She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her, but he stopped talking, worrying his bottom lip with two pairs of fangs, like buck teeth and then buck teeth slightly further out. Rose did feel Latula looking at her, a bit of a pissed-off expression on her face.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your time.” Rose offered a bit of a pained smile. “Maybe… you should take a turn at playing? You probably have the high score anyway.”

“You knowz it,” Latula said, but she sounded like her trademark enthusiasm had been set aside for a moment. She practically sounded suspicious, which Rose had not realized she was capable of. “But maybe  _ warn _ a gal when you wanna grill her matesprit on heavy lore and shit? You’ve killed our flush-buzz.”

“Please accept my apologies, and I’ll do my best to make it up to you, but I think I have to go talk to someone else now.” Rose scooted back and onto her feet, hoping she could find some part of the bubble that intersected with the meteor again. She couldn’t just sit here with the knowledge that the only thematically viable suspect had intentionally manipulated the Beforan session to contain a tumor. She had to find someone to  _ tell _ .


	40. Quintetification

_Terezi ran her fingers over the pages that listed the casualties. Even alone, she wouldn’t lick them. She didn’t want to taste inky death on her tongue, and her skin could already understand the loss of life through the language of stains and smudges._

How did we get this so wrong? Why do we keep getting this wrong?

_“So there’s no real clue on where he’d be going next, but his movement is getting untenably large,” Prospera theorized to the air. She had spent the last few minutes rustling maps and poking them with pins while she spoke aloud. Terezi should probably be paying closer attention. “There’s a strong chance that true organized warfare is on the horizon. We won’t be using under-trained local officers to do battle, we can call in professional warriors. Real weaponry and armor. How will the Chimeric expect to meet that force and continue growth without the necessary infrastructure?”_

_“Will you shut up about infrastructure?” Terezi grumbled. “They haven’t even buried everyone yet.”_

_“Oh, so now is the time to become sentimental? Since when did you wallow in failure, Lawscale?”_

_“You’ve never grieved a day in your life, have you?”_

_“You’ve_ seen _me grieve. You’re the only troll who has.”_

_“Then you clearly learned nothing from the experience!”_

_Prospera scoffed. “You were the same way after the Stalwart died. You will run out of strength to move if you insist on chaining every corpse the Chimeric produces to your heart. Stop blaming yourself for the carnage the Chimeric insists on creating. He’s thrown his sanity out with his reputation, pride, and station.”_

_“But if it was just the Chimeric it would make sense. It’s clear he possesses enough sanity to strategize, and recruit, and convert the Seafa—Betrayer of all trolls.”_

_“Perhaps the Betrayer’s loyalty was on shaky grounds to begin with.”_

_Terezi froze. “Did you know something? Withhold something?”_

_“Nothing so drastic! But in my ‘former occupation’ I paid very close attention to the weaknesses of the elite. The troll we must now call the Betrayer held resentment for something. He had no wellsprings of compassion toward all of trollkind like his former moirail. It’s just a coincidence that the Chimeric could exploit that weakness of his before I could.”_

_“Prospera!” Terezi slammed a fist down on the table. A plot like that had been brewing under her nose? Prospera had her sights on the Empress’s second in command?!_

_The other woman smiled. “Now there’s the Vigilant Lawscale. How nice of her to join me on this fine evening. Now is she ready to catch a terrorist?”_

_Terezi gritted her teeth. She only missed her eyesight on rare occasions, but now was one of them, because she badly wished she could glare at Prospera._

_“Is that a yeeeeeeees?”_

_She couldn’t think of a comeback that contained enough loathing, so Terezi sat back. “The Chimeric should be preparing to split his forces specifically to avoid large-scale armed confrontation. He has the advantage when facing small bands of local enforcers, and if he can conceal his own presence among multiple strike forces, we won’t know where to find the head of the rebellion.”_

_“So what should we do? Arm the warmer classes?”_

_“I would say so, but there’s no way that would become imperial policy. Warmbloods are ‘too frail’ for heavy combat or armaments. Asserting otherwise would play right into the Chimeric’s hands as he argues that warmbloods have always been capable of more than traditional culling says.”_

_“But making further demands of the coolbloods would fail as well. They would resent that fighting crisis falls completely on their shoulders, and the Betrayer has already proven that no matter how great your duties, surrender is an option.”_

_“So…” Terezi took a breath._

_“So,” Prospera echoed._

_“…We have to try. Get a pen and be ready to transcribe. We need to convince Beforus that fighting to keep what we’ve built is worthwhile. We’ll only beat his revolution if we can inspire another.”_

_Terezi sniffed, and she could smell a pearly white smile between Prospera’s black lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Prospera was enjoying this too much._

 

* * *

  

The hard part about seeing Gamzee again was knowing Karkat had forgiven him before he even opened his mouth. Karkat had arranged the pillows into a half-cube to pad the walls and floor of one corner of the block, and he had his husktop open again, playing some of his favorite romcoms but with the sound turned off. He just wanted to see them go through the motions of perfect, beautiful love, and he’d imagine the words. 

He glanced up from the screen and saw there was a face in the corner, white and gray paint and tall horns with a twist in the middle. Gamzee’s makeup still smiled while his lips frowned. So Karkat could at least confirm he had calmed down enough to get back in his pan.

“Little bro, I’m sorry,” Gamzee said from the corner. “Everything just got so dark, and I was so motherfucking scared… Scared you’d sold me out…”

Karkat nodded a little. He figured that’s what Gamzee had been feeling, too.

“…You ain’t gonna say anything?”

He gestured to his neck and tried. “ _Hurrrts._ ” He still could barely get a hoarse squeak out of his squawk box, but it did enough.

Gamzee’s eyes widened and he crawled out of the vent—out into Karkat’s space, like he always hoped Gamzee would, a place that made sense and wasn’t so dark and small—shuffling across the floor on all fours as if Karkat was the feral one in need of a delicate approach. “Little bro, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry, just about the sorriest motherfucker here. My own hurt over what those motherfuckers did to me isn’t a reason to rage in your direction.” Gamzee reached him, and slid his long, cool fingers over Karkat’s. “Do you forgive me?”

As if there was any doubt what he’d say. Karkat leaned his forehead until it touched Gamzee’s and hissed, “ _Yeah_.”

Gamzee wrapped his arms around Karkat, big and secure and the gentlest hug Karkat had ever felt. So Gamzee could touch him gently if he tried after all. Maybe if Karkat stuck it out, Gamzee would do that when he wasn’t apologizing for something. 

“You’re shivering, little bro,” Gamzee said. “The cuddleshirt not enough for you?”

Karkat just pulled Gamzee closer. His purpleblooded body couldn’t warm him up, but Karkat wanted to feel the presence of someone who cared more than he wanted warmth.

“Come on, we gotta get you someplace less like a motherfucking frost hull.” Gamzee pulled Karkat out of his corner and back toward the open vent. “Get you buried deep in that pile of ours, snuggled up like some fluid scooping utensils. How’s that sound?”

It sounded better than the last twenty-four hours had been. So Karkat assumed the position and slid back into the vent. As he went, he thought he heard another knock on the door, but told himself it had to have been his imagination. He was in no condition to answer anyway, even if someone really did want to talk to him.

 

* * *

 

_Feferi didn’t know what to expect in the fallout of her condemnation. She skimmed reports with a dispassionate eye, piecing together the situation as it developed. Seadwellers across the globe found themselves under new scrutiny, compared to the contradictory blueprint of the Betrayer to see if they too held sympathies for the Chimeric. Her elites now stood frozen, damned if they did and damned if they didn’t, because now loyal and subversive behavior alike fit the profile of a ‘ruddy’ sympathizer._  

Karkat’s blood was actually kind of pretty, in its own way. Why must such an ugly word describe it now?

_So far, only a single seadweller had left, and she was a culling case herself: deafened by an accident and now missing. Of course she’d see the Betrayer’s allegiance change as a signal to start a new life._

_She’d have to find some way to calm this madness first, but she couldn’t muster the energy. She spent the rest of her night sorting through paperwork and briefs, lifting her head to look at the courtiers who brought her more to do. The loneliness felt different now that the secret was out in the open. Like she could imagine the Betrayer had killed the Seafarer. That fantasy made the grief a little easier to process._

_“Your Radiance? A gift.”_

_Feferi looked up again. Her mild confusion couldn’t change her expression from a somber neutrality. “Who is the sender?”_

_“The Grand Highblood.”_

_The courtier stepped to the desk and placed a bottle on her desk. The cola inside looked dark, but the label said the flavor was black cherry, and advertised it as such with a pink color scheme. True fuschia would have been treason, but Feferi could see the effort to give her a gift in her own color. The courtier added a note in an envelope, bowed, and left so Feferi could read it on her own._

_Might as well. She took the folded paper, tore it open, and found a card within._

We’vE GoT OuR DifferenceS AnD WE AlwayS WilL  
BuT I Don’T FinD ThesE ParallelS FunnY  
YoU HaD TO TosS OuT SomeonE YoU TrusteD  
I FigureD I’D PouR OnE OuT TO ThaT  
BuT InsteaD I’lL SenD IT TO YoU.  
SorrY FoR YouR MotherfuckinG LosS.  
\- ThE ComediaN

_Half of Feferi wanted to be furious with him. He hadn’t_ lost _his heir; he had_ destroyed _his heir, broken the Mournful’s horn off and left him for dead. But the other half couldn’t muster up the energy to, and she realized this ranked as the most sincere gesture Feferi had seen from any sympathetic soul since her announcement. While the rest of the planet wailed over how their Empress had been wronged and then began a witch-hunt among the violets, the Grand Highblood—the Comedian—knew what she had lost. And he had the common decency not to laugh at her._

_She took the Faygo and moved it to a corner of her desk where it would not be disturbed, but she would still have the chance to look at it from time to time. Obviously, she would need to send a sternly worded rebuke to the Grand Highblood for his inappropriate comparison, but she had a feeling he’d receive it in the spirit intended. She didn’t quite trust the Highblood to stand by her in the fight ahead, but she’d take any kindness she could find, while it still existed on the planet._

 

* * *

 

Dave knocked on Karkat’s door for a minute or so. He had intended to knock like a normal person first, but the thump of his fist on the door started to have a nice beat to it, so he added his other hand and experimented with different rhythms for a little bit. He started to feel really in the groove, but then he lost it when he realized on any normal day, Karkat would have grown frustrated and impatient with Dave’s shit by now and thrown the door open in order to scream him into cutting it out. 

So Karkat either wasn’t home, or he was ignoring Dave so completely that not even his annoyance tactics could draw him out.

He stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall for a second. What was he supposed to do now? Terezi said it was important for them to reach out to Karkat, and make it clear that they still thought he was on their team even if he wanted to be on Gamzee’s team too. But what the fuck was he supposed to do after this?

_Hey Karkat, wanna talk about how I still think you’re cool even after you helped a clown steal some weaponizable shit from Vriska’s stash of overpowered loot?_

Too accusatory. Sounded like the kind of backhanded shit Vriska would lay on someone she not-so-secretly hated.

_Hey Karkat, wanna talk about how I think you’re cool?_

But Dave didn’t wanna talk it out. Every time he tried to say things about how he felt or what he wanted it just ended up so ass-backwards that he should have kept his mouth shut in the first place.

_Karkat, can I just not say anything and kiss you? I know what I said about gay things but Porrim said this isn’t a problem and I don’t even know if it’s all guys or just you and even if you’d rather kiss Gamzee than me I think you should know that I’m definitely down to figure out what the inside of a troll’s mouth tastes like—_

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, that train of thought had gone so far off the rails it was about to explode, evacuate the passengers and abandon the luggage because no one was getting their boonies back after that ride. Dave even bonked a fist against his own head for good measure until he was well and truly sure that stinking shithole of an idea was gone for good.

…But now what?

Dave sank to the floor and thumbed through his sylladex for some inspiration. He found a book and some pens, remnants of an earlier art project. Maybe that would do. He pulled it out and set to doodling, giving Karkat the most meticulous porkchop mouth he had ever drawn, added some nubby pokers on his head, scribbled some hair around him, and then realizing that he was on the verge of just being a (shitty) portrait of Karkat, he added in himself, the Mayor, a ‘sun’, and a few cans.

_if you wanna hang out in can town just let me know. im game_

Masterpiece complete, Dave slid it under the door and walked away. Did that count as flirting? Did he nail it?

Probably not. But he crossed his fingers and hoped it would at least help.

 

* * *

 

  _When they arrived back at the ships, the crews left behind welcomed them with cheers. Gamzee never felt so much like a hero in his whole motherfucking life. They had lost a few, gained a lot, and he took his own selfish comfort in how his own little bro hadn’t fallen to pieces again after more bloodshed this time. He liked to see the Chimeric strong, full of life and confidence and the faith on which Gamzee built his new life here. And he couldn’t wait to see the Chimeric start weaving threads together into a cloth, everyone too tangled up in each other to ever unravel. Already, it looked like a few other trolls had gotten a head start, reaching out to people for all kinds of reasons—a shared blood color, a similar trade, a familiar face—so maybe the Chimeric wouldn’t have to do a motherfucking thing._  

_Once they had everyone sorted out onto the right ships and boarded, the Chimeric got his first chance to rest since they left for this recruitment mission. With two ships and a growing army, the Seafarer would need a few hours to get everyone ready to sail. The Chimeric could rest through that._

_Gamzee knelt beside him in their little cubby and started to unfasten the straps of the Chimeric’s pauldrons. Maybe it was more evidence he was sick and twisted, but Gamzee really liked peeling the Chimeric out of his armor. “You and the wildsis got another one of those motherfucking errands done, yeah?”_

_“We did,” the Chimeric answered. “A simple detour. Is anyone suspicious?”_

_“They might got their suspicions pointed in the direction of a motherfucking concupiscent affair, but I didn’t hear anyone afraid of you chasing rocks instead of victory.”_  

_“A relief as always,” the Chimeric said airily. He tilted his body to let Gamzee unstrap another buckle but then winced as some strained muscles pinched each other._

_Gamzee chuckled a little. “If you keep working your body this motherfucking hard, you might need more than a motherfucking moirail’s backrubs to sort you out.”_

_“Don’t be absurd, I’ll never need more than you.”_

_An urge to hug overpowered Gamzee’s commitment to the task at hand, so he followed it, cuddling the Chimeric close for a minute. “You got some wicked-ass romance lines, my little bro. Gonna make my blood pusher pop if you lay too many of them on me.”_

_“I accept the responsibility of rationing out my gratitude and adoration for you at an acceptable rate, don’t worry.” The Chimeric twisted about enough to press a kiss against Gamzee’s cheek. He came away with a patch of white on his lips. “What_ is _this stuff the Tameless blended for you, anyway?”_

_“Her own secret recipe, I think.”_  

_“When we resupply, I will personally take it upon myself to find you some sealant.” He wiped the dusty-sticky makeup off his mouth with the back of his hand._

_“Little bro, I’m never gonna want to turn my back on what pale concerns you got my way, but I don’t need you sorting_ my _motherfucking shit like this. You just planned and executed a huge motherfucking war on the next step of the rest of this wickedness, so I would think…”_

_“So you protest to my attempts to control this piling session?” the Chimeric asked._

_“Not a protest so much as a query.”_

_The Chimeric looked down. “Then… finish getting me out of my armor, first.”_

_The request was easy to follow, since Gamzee had the job halfway done in the first place. Once the leather pauldrons dropped to the side and Gamzee had his little squishy bro all ready to cuddle, he laid back and let the Chimeric choose a place nestled up against his torso._

_“…The Sanguine’s here.”_  

_“Yeah?”_  

_“Have you seen her?”_

_“At a distance, I think, but she might be getting her avoidance on in my direction, for all kinds of good reasons.”_

_“She’s one of the monsters who excommunicated you! How can she just_ be _here like she didn’t_ do _anything—”_

_“Shhhhh…” Gamzee raised a hand to stroke the Chimeric’s hair, already feeling him tense. “I don’t care that the Sanguine’s here, and I don’t care what she did.”_

_“How can you not!? She nearly killed you! All of them did!”_

_“I motherfucking deserved it, little bro. It’s hard to see it because I’m me and you’re you and we’re here, but if any other motherfucker had done to a wiggler what I did to you, I’d want to see them meet the same motherfucking fate.”_

_Gamzee could feel the Chimeric’s face turn furious, even if he couldn’t see it. “I know that you’re an exception to an otherwise iron rule, but I want her to answer for what she did. It’s not fair that they punished your crime with a crime of their own and nothing happens to them.”_

_“Something did happen to the Sanguine. She’s_ here _. And I don’t know her side of the story, whether this had to do with her cullee or the Highblood’s order or anything that happened after, but she’s changing.”_  

_“I still want to swing my sickles into her eye sockets.”_

_“Yeah, that’s—” Gamzee rubbed the Chimeric’s back. “That’s_ not _what you should be doing, just shoosh that thought right the motherfuck up, nice and easy… Shhhhh… Shhhhhh…”_

_The Chimeric shifted position to wrap his arm around Gamzee, clinging tight to him. They just lay there in the little cabin block for a few minutes, Gamzee attuned to the gradual relaxation he was pouring into his moirail, before the Chimeric spoke. “I knew it would happen eventually.”_

_“What would?”_

_“That people I detest would someday fight by my side.”_

_“Yeah, sounds pretty motherfucking inevitable.” Gamzee said. “Got any wicked scheming to do on that?”_

_“Perhaps. This rebellion needs to grow much more before it’s big enough.”_

_“So how are you going to manage a mighty force like that?”_

_“I don’t think I can. Not to speak ill of my abilities, so no need to reassure me. Even the Compasse appointed viceroys.” He froze, but Gamzee could feel it wasn’t from stress._

_“You got a light popper turning on in your think pan?”_

_“Whatever you mean by that, I believe the answer is yes. Viceroys. Trusted individuals capable of leading their own sects. Followers will answer to leaders who answer to me. And letting trolls of any blood occupy the upper ranks will do a fantastic job of putting our philosophy into action.”_

_“And you’ll never have to see the Sanguine’s face.”_

_“It’s perfect.” The Chimeric pushed himself further onto Gamzee’s body until he was lying on top of him like a lateral relaxation platform. Crimson eyes shone as he looked to Gamzee. “I pity you so much. Thank you.”_

_Gamzee let his hands rest on the small of the Chimeric’s back, his fingers threaded together secure and comfortable. “I just have one request of your motherfucking viceroy plan.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Don’t make me one of them. Don’t make me leave you until fate says so.”_

_The Chimeric reached his hands up and cradled the sides of Gamzee’s face. “Murfle, I swear it. For all the time we have left, I will never again go where you cannot follow.”_

_And Gamzee smiled, savoring the warmth in the Chimeric’s hands that matched the glow in his heart._


	41. Abso100t 8elief

_ It was one thing for the Chimeric to fall. Equius could see the logic in it, considering how many rules he had proven himself an exception to before any of this happened. He was an exception to the hemospectrum, an exception to the order of Guardians, and now an exception to order and sanity. _

_ But the Betrayer… _

_ The Benevole’s request for more autonomy could not have been better timed, though there was no way it could have been intentional. As fear and suspicion gripped all of Beforus, Equius would need to lend his strength to more projects than ever. The ink had barely even dried on new guidelines to prevent conciliatory culling abuse for wigglers, and now the entire government needed an overhaul to verify that all expected to serve the Empire were doing as much as they were able, and that none harbored dissatisfaction or sympathy for the rebels. _

_ Equius had a sinking feeling that it would all be meaningless in the end. Or that it was meaningless in the now. Every wound the Chimeric opened, they struggled to stitch shut before he could rend a new one. And even when they had fixed the pain he inflicted on the world, it would scar, unforgettable. That hopeless feeling inside of him used to be filled with work. But could hollow work fill the emptiness? _

_ He looked to his side, the Benevole once again perched beside him on the bench of a carriage behind a pair of powerful hoofbeasts. She had swapped her handmade dresses for a mediculler’s assistant uniform, plainer than anything he had ever seen her wear, with her blood color, sign, and certification number represented on a small rectangular patch on her chest and sleeves. She sat straight and dignified with a boxed midnight meal and an apron neatly folded in her lap. _

_ “The Chairman is expecting you. He should have your assignment prepared as well.” _

_ “That will be fine.” _

_ Glancing again at the patch on her uniform, Equius felt a pinch in his chest. “I am sorry I cannot give you an assignment suited to your qualifications. The surgeons at this hospital are all cerulean, and in this climate—” _

_ “It’s all right. Even if I can’t serve as a mediculler here, it’s better than doing nothing.” _

_ “I am exceptionally grateful for your understanding.” _

_ She smiled a little. “I am exceptionally grateful for this opportunity,” she said, but the small grin did not last long. “Is there sufficient medical care present in Usukatik?” _

_ “The wounded are being tended, yes. And we are already loosening our interpretation of the Compasse’s order significantly by allowing you to practice a stone’s throw from my hive.” _

_ The Benevole shifted just a little bit, chastised. “It was not a serious suggestion…” _

_ “I understand. But more impossible things have happened in a single sweep than perhaps the entire previous hundred.” _

_ “Even humor has been corrupted.” _

_ Corruption. That felt correct. The structure was still there, but something malignant had begun to eat away at the foundations, rendering the previously reliable unstable. Questions like ‘is violence acceptable’ and ‘are terrorists reasonable’ should never enter the public discourse, and yet, here they were, staring Equius in the face. He had already started to bend on the question of ‘can biology be defied.’ Would he even notice if he failed to stay pointed at his proverbial True North? _

_ His peers would be sure to correct him. They would force him back in line, where he belonged. Where he could help people. Surely helping the Benevole back into medical service helped people? Healing the Huntsman and giving him a mount made the world better, right? Allowing the Lodestar the freedom to roam with someone she loved was the correct action, wasn’t it? _

_ Equius arrived at his hospital and stopped the hoofbeasts. The Benevole shifted and, with a deft kick, lowered the steps and descended before Equius could even move. _

_ “I should walk you in.” _

_ “There’s no need. The Chairman is expecting me.” The Benevole looked up at him and offered another small smile, this time encouraging. “Your strength will be more effectively utilized elsewhere.” _

_ “…I see. Yes.” Equius nodded and gripped the reins tighter. “If I won’t be back in time for morning, there should be a designated block for you to rest in.” _

_ “Trueshot, with all due respect, only my lusus has shown such concern for my well-being. I am a grown certified mediculler. I will be fine.” _

_ “Then we should say… farewell.” _

_ “Farewell.” _

_ She turned and walked up the drive toward the doors. She passed a few trolls, those warmer than her nodding at her authority while one cooler troll did a double-take, squinting at her green mediculler tag like they wanted to contest it but couldn’t find the evidence to make a case out of their suspicion. But the Benevole should be fine. The caverns had made her into something that the surface so rarely saw, and he felt certain she knew this. She’d handle this gracefully, for sure. _

_ Equius snapped the reins of the hoofbeasts, the carriage drawing away from the hospital. But as the medical hive shrank in the distance, Equius’s hands started to shake as they gripped the reins. All these exceptions he had made to his own code lurked in the back of his mind like ghosts. He had only given a few inches, but  _ he had given a few inches _. What if he gave another? And another? And what if he gave the one inch that should never be given? The inch that would allow the corruption to grow? What if he had already given that inch? _

_ And what about the Mondaine? What about Nepeta? _

_He had to pull over and stop the hoofbeasts before his trembling hands confused the steeds. He wanted to grip something, but surely anything he put in his hands would break. All he could do was take deep breaths. In for four, held for five, out for six. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat._  

The path ahead of me is clear. I am a Guardian. I will live as a Guardian and die as a Guardian, and I shall not stray.

 

* * *

 

Kanaya pretty much refused to help Vriska alchemize something new and badass. She sassed and complained her way through providing weaponry to combine with the lock, but  _ whatever _ , Vriska could deal with her being a sourgrub. For good measure, Vriska made a few copies of the one she liked the best (with an electro-shock trap for any saboteurs that only a few rolls from the Octet could defend against) and then fitted them onto multiple doors throughout the meteor. Only one of them would be serving as her new vault, but she liked to have a few decoys, both to confuse the fuck out of the clown and to expand the spaces claimed for Vriska Serket.

She had to move the bodies, which was gross, and uncomfortable. They hadn’t been disturbed, but she couldn’t leave them in the room where they were before. In spite of her best efforts, they were starting to stink a little. Maybe she needed some of that clone-slime that all the pickled carapacian monstrosities used? Then again, she didn’t want to think of the potential repercussions of the slime giving the corpses some chess-like characteristics. No one deserved that. Still, Vriska was a do-er, and though she procrastinated on moving the dead bodies for a little bit, she eventually got them tucked away in a new saferoom with an even more secure lock.

Okay. Good. Great! Perfect, even!

_ Now what? _

Now… she needed to make a plan. Because that’s what she did these days, apparently. Since she was kind of serving as team leader right now. It wasn’t like Vriska  _ wanted _ the role, she just wanted absolute control over telling people what to do! Which kind of made her the leader anyway. And besides, it seemed like Karkat was on a supremely stupid rescue mission to save Gamzee from his own bullshit insanity. Whatever. Call Vriska hemoist, but it looked to her like the destiny of purplebloods to lose their fucking pans. Karkat might as well try and stop a sunrise.

Well, Karkat could do whatever he wanted, so long as he did what  _ Vriska _ wanted when the time came. And so long as Vriska figured out what she wanted him to do. And then she had to manage three other uncooperative players, and just  _ hope _ that it’d be enough. She wanted Terezi around already. She didn’t give herself enough credit as a strategist, with her understanding of what people wanted to do anyway and then giving them the slightest nudge to do what Terezi wanted instead. Vriska had her own style—which she didn’t regret, not at all—but she had some healthy admiration for the way Terezi ran her gambit.

And she could appreciate Terezi’s on-the-fly strategic planning. Just a few questions, a few facts, and she and Vriska could create a battle strategy practically out of thin air. Vriska laced her fingers together, squeezed them, wrung them. It was starting to dawn on her how much she  _ needed _ Terezi to balance her. Otherwise her leadership style would devolve into the way she treated Tavros, or John. Even with John being the far more objectively successful case, she had to admit (to herself alone) that a lot of his success came from who he was as a person. Not to mention, based on the evidence of the blood-scarf, John continued to ascend beyond what Vriska ever imagined, enough to save her own life.

_ Did you save me to become a real leader? What would you do here? _

Who was she kidding. John’s leadership style involved jokes and hugs and bullshit like that, something that Vriska could never pull off. But she didn’t need to be John, and she didn’t need to be Karkat—but she needed Terezi to make sure that she was just enough ‘Vriska’ to get the job done.

She found her way to one of the computer terminal banks, similar to the little ‘control room’ they had used, what, a sweep ago now? It had plenty of chairs in it so Vriska could sit down and try to puzzle this out.

What were the actual threats here? Condesce. Dog Jack. Laser Jack. Gamzee, maybe. Jade, temporarily. John’s dancestor, same. Well, couldn’t Vriska just put them to sleep, since they were human? Maybe. What if the method of control kept them awake? She’d need more information to decide. And also even if she knocked them out, that wouldn’t necessarily break the control. They could just wake up evil again. So they’d need to neutralize the sources of control before letting them wake up, which for John’s dancestor was a tiara-computer (lame) and for Jade… How did Jabe or Joge or whoever the fuck say that she was being controlled? Ugh, Vriska would have to call Kanaya or Rose back in here to get that testimony again, why did she not keep better notes!? Did she really rely on the blind girl, Terezi, to be her note-taker!?

“Vriska, I just made a discovery about the A1 session.”

Rose Lalonde arrived without greeting or ceremony, and Vriska could at least appreciate the convenience of Miss Smartyrobes showing up when Vriska needed. “Save it, Lalonde, and remind me how Jase said the Condesce was controlling Jade? I’m trying to come up with a plan.”

“We still have the better part of a year to make that plan, and I want to tell you about something that supersedes the plan, and possibly our entire quest to create a new universe.”

“Too big-picture! Have you already forgotten that we’re down a time machine and need some serious planning to either recover it or compensate for its loss?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten, but there’s new information regarding the origin of all of this! It’s a well-established fact that there’s nothing new in Paradox Space, and everything is a reflection of what has come before or will later come to pass—”

“ _ Yaaaaaaaawn _ . You gotta find the point at least twice as fast as you’re searching for it right now.”

Rose glowered at Vriska, which at least interrupted her long-winded introduction. “The Beforan Sgrub session was glitched, on purpose, to have its own miniature tumor. That’s what Meenah used to kill the entire team just before the Scratch and preserve them in the dreambubbles.”

“And why do I care?”

“Maybe because this action has had greater consequence throughout multiple universes than most of what we’ve encountered so far? But I don’t know how to force your interest in a topic of profound significance for the entirety of reality if you’ve already concluded that its developments are irrelevant.”

Vriska pinched the bridge of her nose behind her glasses. “Look, I know that’s probably going to make an amaaaaaaaazing footnote in your huge Book of Knowing, but I don’t see how it impacts what we have to do here. Gamzee has a set of timeboxes and we have to either find a way to get them back or neutralize them.”

“I’m confident we still have time to figure out how to do that. But in the meantime, a thorough understanding of the past could be key to helping us understand what all of this is  _ for _ .”

Getting a sense that Rose wasn’t going to shut up until Vriska let her say what she had come to say, she rolled her eyes. “Fine, what did you learn about their glitch-tumor-whatever?”

“The only logical source of the glitch is the Chimeric. That’s been a perpetual theme running through the Vantas bloodline. Mutation and cancers.”

“Or maybe it was some other dipshit. This is real life, Rose, not one of your narratives.”

“Ah yes, because all mysteries are solved based on the selective inclusion of evidence that you find personally interesting. You certainly didn’t complain when we used analysis of a doomed Nepeta’s romantic entanglements to more accurately scry the annals of history.”

“That’s because we actually had the kind of free time to care about shit like that. The new session is closer than ever and I’m pretty sure Vantas is trying to jump ship with Gamzee.”

“And why do you think he’d be interested in Gamzee’s redemption in the first place?”

“Beforus shit, which is completely pointless.”

“Okay, I’d like you to imagine for the briefest of moments that you’re wrong, and try and follow my train of thought here…”

Vriska stood up to try and help Rose get the message. “Look! I’m not  _ interested _ , because this isn’t going to be helpful! I completely agree with you, the Beforan ancestors probably managed to be cool, and their lore could stuff volumes of books, but it’s not going to help us win the fight coming up! Who cares if Karkat put us in this shit because of ancestors or not? What matters now is getting him, and the rest of our party, out of it! If we’re going to win this, I need your nerdish obsession with knowledge pointed in a  _ constructive _ direction!”

Rose shot Vriska an icy, septic glare. “I never expected you to act like such a loser.”

“…What????????”

“Gamzee stole from us and you’re just going to agonize over that loss for hours on end?”

“I’m not agonizing! I’m  _ scheming _ ! That clown is going to pay eightfold for that little stunt he pulled!”

“Petty insults have never been beneath you, but I thought you were much better at utilizing all available resources to one-up your opponents. Gamzee’s ancestral incarnation was central to Beforus, and even if he’s younger here, there has to be something we can learn from the past.”

“Awesome! Great! You can get on that! I’m just keep feeling my focus pulled between the oldest ancestors possible and the impending fight. And it’s starting to become clear that if I don’t turn my attention to the fight, I could end up with even more dead friends! Forgive me for not being seduced by all the hidden lore documents tucked away in this game!”

Rose kept giving her that look, a kind of loathing that made Vriska’s skin itch.

“Maybe… talk to Kanaya about it. I’m sure she’ll hang onto your every word,” Vriska suggested. She wanted it to be helpful but of course it came out bitchy. What the fuck did she even expect?

At least Rose followed her advice. Without another word, she exited and left Vriska alone again, with the computers, and the industrial lighting, and heavy duct piping, and the weight of responsibility, and the deep-green grass and pink rocks and okay what the fuck. Vriska looked up and found that the lab had intersected with a dreambubble. Weren’t those things supposed to come on gradually? Wasn’t she supposed to  _ notice _ ? Maybe her spat with Rose had been too distracting.

But the two occupants of that bubble caught Vriska’s full attention.

One was a young seadweller with Feferi’s horns and sign and two long, long braids trailing on the ground. She kind of pouted at Vriska, like she was disappointed in something. The other was obviously a ghost of Vriska, but not looking like Vriska ever thought she could. She had sneaker boots and a  _ tattoo _ for fuck’s sake.

“…Shellp,” the seadweller said—obviously Meenah, the elusive dancestor and alternate Condesce—turning her head toward Vriska’s ghost. “You wanna flip around here, or…”

The ghost regarded Vriska like she was nervous.  _ Nervous _ . Vriska detested her face for showing that expression. And for having piercings. “No, let’s go.”

Vriska couldn’t even open her mouth. She just boggled vacantly at this bullshit until it left and she lost any chance of asking a single question. Maybe it was better that way. Vriska had no idea what that doomed incarnation of herself was going to say, and she doubted it would give her any additional clarity into what to do next.

_ ‘Knock her out - you can’t let me kill her!’  _

There was a Vriska somewhere who died. And when she died, everything went to shit. And Vriska had no idea if her being alive was truly the thing that would prevent that end. She only knew some doomed Terezi somewhere believed that was enough. And she couldn’t let Terezi down again.

Forget Rose. Forget Kanaya and Dave and Karkat and  _ fucking _ forget Gamzee. She’d find enough about what happened in that timeline to figure out what she needed to do, and then she’d do it. Whatever it took to help that doomed Terezi rest in peace.

And maybe that would give the living Terezi some peace, too.


	42. Boiled Frogs

_ Vriska tried to chalk it up to the camera’s shitty resolution, but she had seen the Compasse rendered in blocky pixels before. She had never looked this sad before. She had never looked this tired before. And Vriska had never thought she’d feel this bad for her. _

_ Lawscale sat to Vriska’s side, reciting figures they had gathered for the Compasse’s consideration. “We know now the Chimeric’s rebellion numbers over two hundred trolls, spanning from burgundy to violet. What worries me more is that unexplained disappearances are on the rise.” _

_ “Some have crossed my desk. Do you have exact numbers?” _

_ “I’m still having trouble separating the missing troll cases, but if we assume even one-tenth of the new cases are related to ruddy sympathizers, that could still triple his force across the globe. I think we’re going to see an increase in attacks from splinter cells: groups of radicalized trolls without connection to the Chimeric who strike against cullers and reinforcementers in his name.” _

_ “And what is your suggestion?” _

_ “We need to arm and empower the warmer classes. Increase the responsibility assigned to OJAs and BOUYs and train them to combat rebels.” _

_ Vriska watched the splotchy face of the Empress shift. She waited for some kind of rebuttal, like ‘unacceptable’ or ‘but that’s the entire point of culling.’ But she said nothing for a moment, until Vriska heard her take a deep breath. “Please present evidence for this argument,” she said. The mic picked up more than the camera—she sounded resigned. _

_ Lawscale nodded. “Of course, your Radiance. The logic stands that the Chimeric’s decalogue is appealing to warmbloods seeking autonomy and coolbloods harboring resentment. If we can better balance the duties and responsibilities of warm and coolbloods, then we erode the Chimeric’s ideological position.” _

_ “He’ll be unable to claim that warmbloods are soooooooo enslaved by their cullers,” Vriska added helpfully. “If you become the Empress who protects and empowers warmbloods together, then trolls will no longer see the point of risking life and limb to change the order.” _

_ “So reform. Like the Chimeric wanted in the first place.” _

_ Lawscale nodded, and jumped in. “But do so according to his thesis. The one he wrote before…  _ this _.” _

_ ‘This.’ Vriska suppressed a laugh at the underwhelming euphemism. _

_ The Compasse nodded. “While I hope I have learned my lesson regarding doubting your analyses, I fear that enacting those reforms would be more difficult than expected. The Governors and Guardians are already suspicious of any suggestion even resembling ruddy philosophy, and coming from the Empress they might fear that I agree with the Chimeric. They will resist anything that would put more responsibility on the backs of warmbloods and shun any coolblood for suggesting it. I don’t want to dismiss your suggestion, Vigilant, but the path is not as clear as you think.” _

_ “I understand, and I want to thank you for your consideration in the first place,” Lawscale said, and Vriska couldn’t even hate her for toadying. “Perhaps Prospera and I could submit some essays or arguments for your advisors’ consideration. The proposal will be ours, and you’ll only have to approve it once it achieves momentum among the elites.” _

_ “You would do that?” _

_ “We’ve already agreed to, between the two of us,” Vriska added. “So all we need is your approval. Lawscale has her contacts among the elites, and I could… take my own approach. Whatever it takes to win.” Lawscale kicked her under the table a little. “Win hearts and minds, I mean! Compromise!” _

_ The Compasse actually laughed a little at that. It sounded dry, but it wasn’t forced. Vriska wondered when she had last laughed. “While I am deeply moved by your determination and vote of confidence, a simple question just occurred to me.” _

_ “What is it, your Radiance?” _

_ “Aren’t you two a little bit off topic?” _

_ Vriska blinked, and she noticed Lawscale sit up straighter. “What do you mean?” _

_ “Your mission was to find the Chimeric, predict his movements, and stop him before anyone died. I realize now that victims of his rebellion were inevitable, given his cause and methods. I apologize for asking you to stop a tide. But you’ve moved your focus away from hunting the Chimeric and into bureaucratic reform. May I remind you, as gently as I can, that this is not what I tasked you with.” _

_ She was right. She was just  _ right _ , Vriska hadn’t been focused on following orders for perigees now. And Lawscale hadn’t been staying on track either. Somehow, this impossible yet simply-defined mission to find and stop a single rebel leader turned into a quest to unravel and rewrite the social order in a way that would prevent a radical like him from emerging ever again. _

_ “Are you… reaffirming your orders?” Lawscale spoke first. “Or giving new ones?” _

_ “I may. But I’d like to ask first: do you believe you should end your partnership? I would re-assign Lawscale to a team of her choosing to enact these reforms, and Prospera, your labor in culling service would be instrumental toward modeling appropriate responsibility for bluebloods. I can even order voluntary cavern service for your matesprit, as requested!”  _

_ “Former,” she said. The word still cut her, but it left her lips easily. “The Benevole terminated our quadrant.” _

_ “My goodness, when?” _

_ “Quite recently,” Vriska lied. “Her letter arrived shortly before the massacre at Usukatik. My matesprit or not, I still believe the Benevole has earned voluntary service, by virtue of possessing the virtues I lack.” _

_ “I’m so sorry to hear…” the Empress said. _

_ “It’s no tragedy. She simply tired of waiting for me in such stagnant, idle conditions. At least when the caverns separated us, we had work to keep us occupied.” It came so easily to her, weaving a false yet plausible narrative out of thin air. She felt Lawscale’s stillness too, like a turquoise statue beside her, like if she moved even a muscle Vriska’s delicate web would rip apart.  _

_ She continued, “While I would not fault the Esteemed Lawscale for jumping at the chance to construct her own investigative council with your gracious permission, I want to remind you that I was hatched a winner. Even my setbacks are merely the groundwork for future victories. If you would allow me to be vulgar, your Radiance, I simply could not live with myself if I allowed a filthy mutant to destroy my hive, fortune, and station. I want him behind your strongest bars so that I can visit him and he will know who ended his terror.  _ That _ will be my ‘mission’ in this investigation.” _

_ Even with a more abstract than realistic face, the Compasse looked shocked by this vengeful declaration. _

_ “While I don’t share Prospera’s motives, we agree on the end result. The path toward stopping the Chimeric is longer than expected, but we are both prepared to see it through to the end,” Lawscale clarified. Vriska hadn’t expected her to. _

_ “So you would want to keep Prospera as an investigative partner? Even after everything?” _

_ “She’s the most sensible choice to help me achieve my goal. My courtroom manners would not pass for courtly manners, so Prospera is a necessary liason. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on her games in turn.” _

_ Eye, games. Words so charged in Lawscale’s vocabulary Vriska couldn’t help hearing them twice as loud as anything else in her sentence. The Empress said she could have whoever she wanted to assist her—she could poach her cherished old cullee out of his golden tower if she wanted—and she still chose Vriska. And this game felt so second-nature to Vriska now: snatching papers to read aloud, jotting down notes on conversations, handling anything Lawscale had ‘observed’ with gloves and epidermal cleanser. And Vriska felt better knowing Lawscale would be on her side. _

It feels nice to have an equal.

_ The Compasse nodded. “I can arrange for you both to come to the Amphibiortress and continue your investigation from there. I should have my forces consult you for strategy, but the majority of your time can be spent introducing reform measures in whatever guise it takes for my court to accept them.” She took another deep breath, and sighed. “And may the stars guide you, because if catching the Chimeric was an unturnable tide, I fear that this task before you is worse.” _

_ “We’ll manage,” Lawscale said, and she bowed her head. “I thank you for this opportunity.” _

_ “Likewise,” Vriska added with a wave. _

_ The communication terminated, and Lawscale turned Vriska’s direction. _

_ “What are you up to,” she asked—no, demanded. _

_ “Me?” _

_ “You.” _

_ “Whaaaaaaaat? Why would I be up to something?” _

_ “You want to stick with this? Go to the palace and fight for culling reform?” _

_ “What makes you think I’m lying about that?” _

_ “You’re not. You gave me a litmus test in your own speech, lying about the Benevole like that to set a baseline for your deceitful speech and then following with the starkest truth. If you had spread that out, perhaps you could have boiled the frog enough to confuse me, but you didn’t. You sincerely want to go to the palace with me and end the Chimeric, which makes me wonder, why.” _

_ Vriska stretched her arms above her head. “It sounds to me like you answered your own question, my dear Lawscale.” _

_ “No, I’m saying you have something  _ more _. Some other interest advanced by your presence in the amphibiortress.” _

_ “If you’re so certain I’ll be up to my old tricks once among coolbloods again, then you could have refused to have me. The Empress did not extend that invitation to me alone. I can only exist in those vaunted halls again with your gracious permission. So why allow me at all?” _

_ “You know why.” _

_ “Delegate Twinhorn will be  _ crushed  _ to hear who his latest successor is.” _

_ “Don’t bring Twinhorn into this!” _

_ “Why not? Wasn’t he your favorite seeing eye wiggler?” _

_ “He’s forging his own path. I respect his choices and won’t steal him away from his vital work. The retention of the API has been one hundred percent since the Chimeric circulated his decalogue. They need him more than I do.” _

_ “But am I the only one who can fill his shoes?” _

_ “I won’t lose time training another replacement. And I meant what I said. You have the kind of contemptible decorum that will twist arms and win allies. Surely there’s a few powerful trolls you could lay low with a simple rumor or two, if they don’t support our ideas.” _

_ Vriska put a scandalized hand on her collarbone. “You  _ cheater _!” _

_ “You hypocrite.” Lawscale’s head tilted down ever so slightly, and some of her hair shifted into her face. “And when we were preparing that argument for the Compasse… you had a talent for it. The brief was twice as strong in half the time, and we have no time to waste.” _

_What was she supposed to say to that? Before Vriska could even decide on a snide remark to toss Lawscale’s way, the tealblood kept talking. “I will never forget that you’re a scoundrel and a criminal, Prospera. But I think it’s time for me to stop pretending I’m better than you. We’ll never win if I don’t."_  

_ Vriska smiled. Words she never thought she would hear from Lawscale! They warmed her more than she expected. “Then let’s begin winning.” _

 

* * *

 

Karkat’s voice came back after a day or so. At least, he started to sound normal, and he could wear turtlenecks without much pain. The bruise still looked nasty. And speaking felt like gargling with miniature caltrops.

In the time it had taken for Gamzee to apologize for his mistake, the vent-nest had fallen apart again, with all the rhyme and reason Karkat had brought to the place obliterated. Gamzee explained by giving Karkat a sheepish shrug and saying, “It’s hard to keep it together when you’re not here.”

“It’s kind of hard to keep it together  _ for _ you.”

“C’mon, little bro. You’re my moirail, right?”

He tried moving his ass to clean up—or maybe at least get the garbage out, even if everything else stayed an oinkbeast sty—but he lost energy quickly. But if he didn’t try, that just left him sitting with Gamzee, his head ringing with what his moirail had  _ done _ , and if he dwelled on that, he’d lose his nerve to stay, and if he left Gamzee alone, he might do something even worse to everyone else. He had unread messages on his palmhusk too, but Karkat didn’t want to open them. He didn’t want to see their questions, or worse, their blame. They were probably doing fine without him, just like they always had.

_ So long as I’m here, he won’t hurt anyone else. And it’s the only thing I’m good for anymore. _

Even token energy to try cleaning up exhausted him, but he had to at least do something. Piling felt wrong now too, like another chance for Karkat’s think pan to go quiet enough to remember  _ that _ , and he’d start shaking, and Gamzee would hold him harder, and then it’d hurt, and it’d freak Karkat out worse, but if he said something Gamzee might get angry, and then he might  _ really  _ hurt. They tried it once before Karkat bailed, insisting he’d rather try and find out if there were any more books of his lost Gamzee’s den of madness.

And he was hungry. Faygo on an empty stomach made him queasy. And then sleepy. But he couldn’t sleep, Gamzee got skittery when he slept. And the same thing would happen if he left for food. What was Gamzee running on, if he didn’t eat or sleep in Karkat’s presence? Would Karkat even find the substance edible? The longer he went without, the more he felt like he’d be willing to chew on rocks. Trying to entice Gamzee into letting Karkat go for both their sakes always started a pointless little fight about how badly Gamzee needed Karkat with him. Gamzee would bring up all the times Karkat had been hasty with frog breeding, or absent for Tavros, or made bad calls trying to command his team, and Karkat would lose. And nothing would change.

But the hunger made the sleepiness worse.

“Gamzee, I swear to… fuck, I don’t even know what to swear to,” Karkat rasped at him. “With all the pity I have in me,  _ please _ . I just want to take a nap. Even a short one. And you can wake me the moment you start feeling scared, I promise. I just… I just want to sleep a little.”

Maybe he’d see Prospit. He never got to have his dreamself wake there, but it seemed really nice in the dreambubbles. Or maybe some bright little planet with grass and breezes. Maybe he’d find a ghost of a friend who didn’t hate him. He wanted  _ else _ : somewhere that wasn’t a claustrophobic air vent, someone who wasn’t an unhinged clown and his only friend.

Gamzee seemed confused by Karkat’s request. “Little bro, you stayed awake for three motherfucking weeks in our session. You don’t  _ get _ sleepy.”

“I’m tired now. I—” Karkat’s words died in his throat. “I don’t mean to be selfish about this. But I really… I think I’d be a better moirail to you after a nap. Even just for an hour. Maybe… we could both nap? I’ll stay awake until you sleep, and then you’ll wake me up when you do?” That was the best deal Karkat could offer him. He just had to hope it took.  To improve his chances, he stuffed his hands in his pocket and crossed his fingers. He’d seen Dave do it, and it was for good luck.

Karkat missed Dave. He wished Dave didn’t hate him, for being weak or stupid or gay or a fucking waste of organic life.

A few more pusher-hammering seconds passed, but then Gamzee turned to one of the heaps of bullshit and hollowed out a little crater in the top. He situated himself in it, and then held his arms open for Karkat. On the verge of crying with relief— _ keep it together, Vantas, he might change his mind if he sees you cry _ —Karkat crawled up the pile and nestled against Gamzee’s side. The dreambubble should help. Even if he didn’t go somewhere nice, or if he didn’t find a friend, at least the dreambubbles wouldn’t be scarier than life in the vents. When he woke up, he’d have another chance to make things better.


	43. Interspecies Bonding

Rose did not wear frustration well, in Kanaya’s opinion. She looked sour over it, and the vitriol she used to recount Vriska essentially saying she wanted Rose to be nerdishly, obsessively informed but only in the ‘right direction’ made Kanaya fear Rose was on the verge of saying words that could not be unsaid.

“I have an idea for us,” Kanaya said. “We can make some tea and sit for a while, and perhaps you could journal your revelation into your research tome and recount it to me as well! I can assure you I will be very interested.”

The Seer grumbled a little more, but she still agreed, setting up at a common-room table and opening her book to the appropriate page while Kanaya moved her seat close enough for her arm to touch Rose. Then she remembered they had progressed past coy plausibly-accidental touches, so she draped her arm around Rose’s shoulders instead. Rose hummed and leaned her head toward Kanaya, like to reassure her, before putting herself back into an optimal writing pose.

Rose recounted for Kanaya’s benefit her evidence that the Beforan descendants had dealt with a buggy version of their game, buggy enough to include a Tumor of its own, though miniaturized. She concluded from Mituna’s description of the code corruption that the changes had been deliberate and intentionally left small and infrequent enough to escape notice, especially if Feferi’s dancestor was as bossy and condescending as the stories said she was. And her theorized culprit was the Chimeric, largely on the grounds of narrative connections between iterations of the Vantas bloodline as biological exceptions and carcinogenetic individuals. Kanaya felt that Karkat would find that analysis to be a grave insult, even with his chumhandle and the fact the Chimeric’s Tumor had helped preserve their dancestors. It might remind him of the cancer Karkat created in the humans’ session, the cancer they were presently running from.

Kanaya didn’t follow much of what Rose was saying too closely, mind wandering to her visit to Karkat’s door shortly after the chase had fallen apart. He hadn’t answered her, but he had to have been there. Obviously he’d still be mad at them, at least for a little while, but she wanted the chance to explain that it was all a misunderstanding. Well, or for Karkat to explain his own misunderstanding. She was pretty sure if he just knew what had been stolen and why it mattered so much that it be returned, they would be swiftly united in favor of its return.

Besides, the prospect that Karkat might be doing this from a sense of pale affection gave Kanaya an upsetting feeling, something along the lines of  _ you could do so much better. _ She felt a little sick to think of herself in that specific romance movie role, the supporting character who wished they could replace one of their friend’s quadrantmates—because that character was unilaterally an awful person—but the objective truth remained that Karkat could do so much better.

Best to just focus on the story in which she was the romantic lead: the story of her and Rose.

Recording her findings helped calm Rose down. Kanaya took a dash of credit for herself because listening to Rose’s esoteric genius had to be at least slightly instrumental in shaking off Vriska’s bitchiness. When Rose closed the book, she didn’t stow it immediately, and she didn’t move away. And neither did Kanaya.

And those stomach-moths were back again, fluttering away in her insides and making her cheeks hot. Was now the right time to actually kiss Rose? Or the right place? Was she reading the mood correctly? Was Rose staying close like this because she wanted to kiss or because she had some other clever idea in the back of her mind?

Rose turned a little toward her. And then Kanaya turned a little more, toward her face. And then Rose shifted in her seat to turn further. By quarter-inches, they kept moving, closer, more direct—a nervous and involuntary bubble of laughter left Kanaya’s mouth, and Rose smiled. She didn’t meet Kanaya’s eyes, but her hand moved to cover hers.

Those nervous questions vanished. Before any more doubts could take hold, Kanaya metaphorically leapt and literally leaned until her lips met Rose’s. The waxy texture of Rose’s lipstick and the pressure of her mouth sent a jolt of… something through Kanaya. Like a breathless vow,  _ oh my god this is really happening _ . And she wanted it to happen again and again, forever if possible…

Though, that particular kiss had to end. Kanaya felt pretty sure she had lost control of her glow somewhere in the middle of it, but at that moment, she wanted to be shining. 

“We should go,” Rose said. Her voice shook a little, like the smooth line in her head was not coming out with its intended delivery.

“Go where?” Kanaya asked.

“Somewhere private. Somewhere close.” 

Kanaya’s imagination ran wild, painting pictures of both the fantastical and modest implications of that statement. Then she literally ran wild, taking Rose’s hand and making a break for the nearest transportalizer. Her block should be closest and it would definitely be private.

 

* * *

 

Dave didn’t dream about Houston much. He could count on one hand how many times he had found himself in a dreambubble filled with the gray asphalt and brick towers of his old neighborhood. As he got his bearings in this latest non-Euclidian sphere of memory nonsense he realized this now added one more to his count of dreams-about-Houston.

At first, he thought it was something of a bad omen. Maybe the dreams were trying to take him back to childhood strifes that had a lot more pain and swords involved, after fake-sparring with Terezi. But, Dave didn’t find himself dreaming of the apartment. He was a ways down the street, at a bus stop, looking at his shaded face reflected in the windows of parallel-parked cars. With a roll of his shoulders, Dave realized he was expecting to pull out his camera and take a self-portrait reflected in a thing not traditionally used as a mirror, like artists did, thinking it was insightful and brilliant, and which Dave knew was stupid and therefore ironic, so did it anyway. The sun on his face and hair felt just like the real Earth, and it made Dave’s scalp prickle with the beginnings of sweat. He could smell exhaust and fried chicken and a dog crap someone had neglected.

_ Ah, the streets of home. _

He knew the path to his apartment, and figured he might as well go there since interacting with memories of the streets didn’t sound all that much like a fun time. At least the apartment should have some video games, or maybe even the phantom of some apple juice. He came to a familiar and long-destroyed convenience store on the corner leading round to his apartment, which would almost certainly have juice for purchase. Why did Rose have to alchemize gin before she alchemized AJ? If he took her here, would she figure it out? Assuming Dave even made it here again. Maybe Rose was dreaming too? Could he summon her if he sent her a message?

As he rounded the corner and reached down to maybe pull his phone from his sylladex, Dave realized that he was not alone in this memory at all. The toy store tucked between the Food Town and the barbershop had someone looking in the window. He had puffy black hair around a pair of rounded-nub horns, a gray face wearing a heavy scowl, and a bulky turtleneck with his sign. For a moment, he wanted to be disappointed by yet another doomed Karkat, but Dave looked closer. His eyes were yellow and gray.

“Karkat!” he called out, happiness and hurt flip-flopping in his chest.

Karkat didn’t really react. He acknowledged Dave, sure, because he said, “Dave, glad you’re here. I need you to answer for some of your species’ perplexing and probably moronic redundancy. Take a look at this.”

So on the one hand, Karkat was talking to him. Awesome. But on the other, did he not remember that there had been this pretty obvious and intense time of Karkat  _ not _ talking to him? Always tossing out “I gotta go” and “something came up” and bolting? But Dave didn’t really know what to do but get closer and ask, “Sure, what’s up?”

The troll jabbed a finger at the window, pointing out a pair of cheap plastic toy microscopes on display. One was black with some silvery accents like it belonged on a Star Trek spaceship. The other looked like it had come from exactly the same mold, but with all the black parts re-cast in a cavity-carving shade of bubblegum pink.

“There’s a black option and a pink option for exactly the same object,” Karkat said. “If you’re going to only have two colors, why those two? And what stops them from creating a shitton of colors? I think I’d want to eat my own tongue and then vomit looking at that pink one for too long.”

“That’s the girl version,” Dave answered. “Because girls don’t buy anything that isn’t pink. You gotta color-code that shit or else people get confused about who the girls are.”

“That’s insane. That’s like a hard-coded piece of mental deficiency baked into your species, I  _ know _ you don’t need color-coding to tell the males and females of your species apart! And why does it have to come on some kind of extreme scientific magnifier? It should be in one color or all colors!”

“Trolls color-code the shit out of their possessions based on their blood colors, or at least the rest of them do. Are you gonna give a human girl shit for rolling around in pink and then say it’s totally normal when the rest of the trolls always make sure they’ve got green or blue on them, just in case we forget what their insides look like?” Dave had to point out.

“That’s the shallowest interpretation of troll culture I’ve ever heard. Representation of blood color is a way more diverse and expressive subject. Some trolls bathe in their color while others keep it to tasteful accents. And it’s not just this weird magnifier, there’s an  _ absurd  _ amount of pink in this window! Why is half of your species resigned to a single color for their entertainment implements?!”

“Look, I agree with you, but the people who made those were all huffing glue or something. Somewhere along the line we just started thinking that toys had to be pink to make girls buy them.”

Karkat flipped a double-bird at the toy store, backing up from their window so he had space to wave them around a little, before he considered the Fuck You properly delivered and let it drop. “Did you ever buy anything from this store? Pink or not.”

“N—Karkat, look, I’d be happy to have a discussion with you about how fucking weird it is that humanity decided pink was lady catnip and the key to infinite money, but  _ what the fuck _ ? I’ve been trying to get your attention to hang out and you’ve just been ignoring everything! I sent you a ton of messages and left an invitation to come to Can Town under your door. Did you even see any of that?”

Karkat had the decency to look apologetic. “I saw some of it. I’m sorry, I’m just… really trying to figure things out.”

“By kissing Gamzee?”

“What? What does he have to do with this?”

“What were  _ you  _ doing keeping us from pummeling him after he stole the timeboxes? You just showed up out of nowhere and yelled at us for chasing him when he was the one who pissed all over our redemption trial.”

“I didn’t want this to devolve into more fighting. There’s been so much of it, Dave, and now that there’s finally something  _ approximating  _ peace, I want to keep it. I’ll find a way to get fix this without anyone needing to get hurt.”

“But why do you have to fix it on your own? And why does it require self-imposed exile from the lands of Non-Juggalo-istan?”

Karkat reached out a hand and placed it on Dave’s shoulder. “Look, I really am sorry. I know none of this makes sense and I don’t have a way to make it less confusing. I wouldn’t even know where to start if I wanted to explain myself, or if this dream would last long enough. But I’m really trying to find a way to make this better.”

Having a point of contact with Karkat made his anger flicker, like fire pushed by a breeze. “By cutting me out? Isn’t there something I can do to help?”

“I can think of two things,” Karkat said, his remorse dissolving into a little bit of a smile. “One would be to stay in the moment. It’s been a long time since we shared a dream, or any time together, at all. And I want to just take a fucking breather for once. Focus on the coagulated memories of the past which currently serve as our present and cut loose.”

Why did such a simple suggestion feel like it had all the trappings of an intense moral dilemma? Dave wanted to stay mad at Karkat, for not telling him anything and pushing him out right when he was starting to feel comfortable with the idea of asking Karkat to cross a line he never thought was crossable. But at the same time, just  _ being  _ with him would be so sweet. They could share a space, alone, for just a few minutes, and that hadn’t happened in so long that Dave felt himself craving it worse than the apple juice.

Dave swallowed a lump in his throat and asked, “What’s the other thing?”

Karkat’s smile got a little wider. “Show me around! This is  _ Earth _ ! When it was still whole and had people and things on it! I’m sure your entire species can’t be as stupid and pointless as miniaturized science equipment color-coded for wigglers.”

“No, it’s pretty much all just as bad.”

“Then we can laugh at how bad it is together.”

“Like one of your shitty romcoms.”

“They aren’t shitty! They’re classic masterpieces, credits to the genre, each and every one of them!”

Dave could feel his own face breaking into a smile. Sure, it wasn’t everything he wanted out of this, but it was enough. “Okay, okay. I can take you round the block. It’s a date.”

“A date?” Karkat echoed, a little suspicious. “In which quadrant?

“Right, quadrants. Um, the purple one.”

“There is no purple one.”

“Humans have a purple one. It’s for assholes. C’mon, I’ll show it to you.”

So maybe this wouldn’t be a true date. Dave had no idea how he was going to ask Karkat out on an actual date with all those secrets still around. But he’d enjoy the time they had, and see if he could use the next time (whenever the next time happened) to crack that shell open and find the truth.

 

* * *

 

Recovering pieces of wickedly righteous apparel a _ second _ time after he had gone through all the trouble of assembling one full set made Kurloz feel a little bit like Paradox Space was rattling his bones for the mother fucking fun of it. He could imagine and manifest pieces of the holy ensemble in droves, but those would just be memories, figments unable to leave the bubbles and do his invertibrother any good. Scrounging around for corporeal fabrics and dyes made him tug his stitches, mostly in boredom and partially in frustration. It had been kind of fun the first time. Doing it all over again made it a chore. Even with Meulin’s semi-intentional help, it took him the equivalent of at least a sweep by his best estimate to find all the pieces again. He passed them to Gamzee with more muted reverence, feeling at least a little grateful that Gamzee didn’t ask to involve him in any more fucked-up piling educational voyeurism sessions.

But he should have known better than to assume that his fellow Hero of Rage wouldn’t have further need for Kurloz, even after seeing the secrets he kept with Mituna and Mituna alone. When they next met in a dreambubble and Kurloz passed him the final and most critical piece of them all—the righteous codpiece—Gamzee thanked him, but had new  orders.

“I got my palebro, Vantas, asleep around these bubbles,” Gamzee told him. “He’s creeping up on his motherfucking breaking point, but he ain’t tipped over yet.” 

**_I SEE, MOTHER FUCKER. SHOULD I POINT A GANDER BULB HIS WAY?_ **

“Find him first. Then show him some holy ruckus.” Gamzee smiled. “See if he’s snappable yet.”

Kurloz nodded.  **_READY TO DO OUR LORD’S MOTHER FUCKING WORK AND SEE THE END OF YOUR BARDLY RUSE._ ** And he knew that his brother wasn’t really into lengthy devotions, so he broke the mental connection and said the last bit just in his own head:

_ Long live the Angel of Double Death. Long live the Servant of the Lord. _


	44. Den of Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta give another warning on this chapter for abuse and graphic depictions of violence.
> 
> Thank all of you for sticking with me this far. There are clearer skies ahead.

Karkat knew he was asleep. And therefore, he was in a dreambubble. But his self-awareness ended there. Like he knew he was in a memory, and he knew it was his, but he didn’t know which one this was. So he didn’t think on it and let the memory take him where it wanted. It was easier that way. Even his dream projection or whatever couldn’t shed the exhaustion of days spent awake. His legs moved, one foot in front of another. His gaze stayed on the ground just a few feet in front of him.

The floor looked like old flagstones, and a little bit ahead of him, he saw another pair of feet in almost comically enormous shoes. The feet looked really stupid, and it made Karkat give a puff of laughter—but just a puff. Then his eyes followed up the shoes to the pants: broad stripes, alternating dark and light, like the panels of a circus tent. The fabric swung around its wearer’s ankles, and Karkat had the impression he could stuff his entire torso into just one leg of those pants. Another exhausted, semi-delirious puff of laughter escaped his mouth at that. Those were some pretty dumb pants. Lifting his head higher would take energy that he didn’t have, so Karkat kept shuffling forward, following the shoes and pants. He let his gaze drift to his left, seeing another set of legs too, belonging to someone who took much longer and slower strides than Karkat, one for his every two. And that person’s pants had rings on it, color standing out against the darkness. A familiar color…

_…Gamzee?_

Karkat stared harder, trying to remember if he had ever seen Gamzee wear those exact pants, but his foggy head wouldn’t comply. It felt like the answer was no. But if that wasn’t Gamzee wearing them, then who was it? He forced his head to raise higher, looking at the person to the side of him. He had a sign on an armband, a lazy squiggle that didn’t match Gamzee’s at all, but it proved he had the same blood color. He had the same swirls and patches of gray and white painted on his face—they called those ‘joker visages,’ Karkat remembered, but from where?—and a kind of slack-jawed expression, with vivid and undeniably purple eyes.

He was an _adult_.

And with his head raised, Karkat looked to the person walking in front of him, and saw a stripe of purple across his waist and in an ‘X’ around his back. He stood even taller than the adult to Karkat’s side, with arcing horns that reminded Karkat of the tree branches he had seen Terezi hang scalemates from. Two purpleblood adults. He shouldn’t be this terrified of them, but fuck that, he was! Even being quadranted to a highblood—though Gamzee made Karkat feel terrified too, sometimes—couldn’t quell that near-reflexive fear, like when they had found that memory of an old Jade and the Condesce. Everyone here could murder him with a pinch of their fingers, and try hard as he might, he couldn’t convince himself he was safe.

The adult in front reached a pair of tall, heavy doors and opened them up, stepping aside to let Karkat through with a tiny bow and an enormous smile. Karkat tucked his head down and moved quickly past him, praying he was obeying their wishes and that obedience would keep him alive. Karkat crossed the threshold into a cavernous circular room, flagstones on the floor and boulder-like bricks constructing the walls, but with no windows, only skylights covered with whimsically colored tarps. The shape reminded him of a coliseum, and he could even see weapons on the sidelines: thin swords, heavy axes, clubs by the dozen in a range of sizes, something that looked like a pair of maces.

Karkat could hear footsteps as others entered the enormous room. And it wasn’t just the two sets of the leader who had opened the door and the slack-jawed one that had walked beside him. More purplebloods poured into the room: four, five, six, ten, twenty, forty. All of them adults. Their size varied from compact to enormous, but they could all crush Karkat’s skull effortlessly. Karkat tried to see if he could strafe away from the center of this room and find some exit, but the purplebloods filed in around him in an approximate circle, like they were taking seats before a show. And no matter which direction Karkat turned, he couldn’t see a way out. Not without charging directly into the claws of the highest and most lethal landdwellers. Karkat felt like he had been thrown into a den of roarbeasts. It was a matter of time before they got hungry and decided to stop toying and start hunting—

_They know you. You know them._

The voice inside him that said that was so little, Karkat almost felt like it was a feverish hallucination. But it sounded like himself, far more than most of thoughts did nowadays. He took a shaking breath, and then another, and tried to see if it would speak to him again, but nothing much came forward.

He took another look around the circle, searching for anything approximating a familiar face. He may have been imagining it, but at a second glance the slack-jawed one seemed younger than the others. Maybe he wasn’t as much of an adult as Karkat thought, at least not compared to the rest of his caste. Maybe he’d oppose the culling of a troll so close in age to himself. Who else, who else… the troll who had opened the door to him looked familiar too. Like the hivemaster—the _ringleader_. Karkat needed his respect if he was going to survive this. He could feel a history with that troll too, thin but strong like a piano wire.

But now what was he supposed to do? He knew the legends and lore, that the capricious subjugglators only cared if you could entertain them. But Karkat was never _funny_. He could make people laugh at him, but they were laughing at his leaderly speeches or ineffective threats or just general incompetence. Would they find his uselessness funny? Or offensive?

Feeling the silence grow on too long, Karkat turned to the ringleader-troll who had opened the door. He had done that funny little bow to let Karkat by, so Karkat mimicked it back to him. The adult raised his chin and laughed, and Karkat found the space to breathe a little deeper. Okay. So that was working. Okay. Okay. What next. What now. He had one that laughed at one joke, but how long was he going to be here? Did he need to entertain them forever, or would they let him go if he could put them in deep enough stitches? Something about the memory told Karkat that he wasn’t supposed to wait for release, he was supposed to wait for someone’s arrival. Maybe that someone would save him.

_They know you. They know him._

That sounded stronger now, easier to believe. Karkat took a few steps toward the subjugglator he identified as young, keeping eye contact with him. It made Karkat’s knees shake, seeing that full, dark purple in his eyes, knowing what it meant he was ready for, capable of, but he held his breath and his gaze. After a long while, he saw the other troll’s lazy expression turn toward a smile too. Okay. Good. He had no idea how or why that was working, but it was. Even as he felt the hackles raise on the back of his neck, convinced there was someone behind him prepared for an ambush, Karkat took slow and measured steps until he was facing the other side of the room. He picked another subjugglator and steeled himself into looking into his eyes next. And even though after a few seconds it made Karkat shiver and shake, it seemed to be working. When Karkat met each set of eyes, he could feel another piano-wire twang to them, like the thinnest cord holding onto a tiny anchor. Each one reassured him a little bit. Like he had another tether to reality, a bond to sanity. And the terrible irony of finding something rational to hold onto among subjugglators was not lost on him. But what else was he supposed to do?

Karkat counted the number of trolls as he went. There were forty-six of them in total, with tall horns on taller bodies and builds that made Karkat feel they were calibrated for murder. He could almost remember it, actually, seeing them swing clubs and swords, and twist their bodies, and manipulate flame, and then bash skulls open and paint with the blood inside. He had been so small when he had seen that, but he remembered it… And he had to stop it from happening to him.

As he moved around the circle, Karkat felt like the subjugglators were closing in around him, getting closer to this weird little one-trick mutant who thought the audacity of looking them in the eyes counted as a joke. But he had to keep it together, he just had to keep them distracted, help was on the way, he knew it. The one who had brought him here would return and protect him. If Karkat could just keep them happy until he arrived—

The door to the domed room opened again, and two more trolls entered, both purpleblooded adults. Forty-eight to worry about, then. But Karkat looked closer, and he realized the one on the left was old, with silver woven into his mane of dark hair, and the one on the right was Gamzee.

_That’s not his name._

Karkat blinked and shook his head, trying to reconcile that he did and didn’t know this troll’s name at the same time, when the voice inside gave him a better answer: _Mirthful_. And things clicked into place. These weren’t subjugglators in the first place. They were purpleblooded adults, but they were under Feferi—the Compasse, but thinking of her as ‘Feferi’ felt right too—so no one of them here was going to harm him. And that’s why he was here in the first place. He wanted sanctuary, Mirthful would negotiate it for him, and Karkat would figure out where to go next. That was the plan. He could stick with the plan.

The old troll stopped just inside the doorway. Mirthful stayed close to him. Karkat thought he looked like a leashed pet standing beside that old hulk, but it made sense to his mind. Mirthful had been trying to follow orders better as of late, and Karkat had encouraged him to. Catastrophe had forced them into this situation, and the only way for Mirthful to help Karkat out of it would be to play along. The old one took a few steps into the room and said… something. It sounded like trying to hear someone’s voice underwater. Voices from the circle around Karkat answered him with the same muffled tone. He couldn’t properly remember what anyone had said here, so Karkat just kept his eyes trained on Mirthful, a twist in his heart growing angry, bordering on furious, with how nervous and scared he looked. How dare this Highblood lead through fear? What good came of that tactic?!

Then the old troll—the Highblood, Karkat knew this—stepped further into the circle, Mirthful teetering after him. Karkat felt his own presence in the center squeezed to the side as he watched the Highblood and waited for what he was going to say.

The Highblood asked a question of Mirthful.

Karkat heard his voice: _What?_ he said. Such a simple answer.

The Highblood spoke again, and even without knowing what precisely he said, Karkat felt all of the tethers he had created with the purplebloods around him _cut_. The piano wires split from the anchors and Karkat knew he had lost support, lost favor, and he was adrift, defenseless, once more. As terrible and terrifying as that was, it didn’t even match the fear Karkat felt when he first entered this room and found himself surrounded by purpleblooded adults. Something about having Mirthful here made him unafraid.

And then the Highblood asked another question.

Mirthful answered: _I—I don’t kno—_

The Highblood raised his hand and wrapped it around one of Mirthful’s horns. Karkat watched him pull, forcing Mirthful’s head to follow, until he snapped the horn right against his leg. A howl of pain ripped out of Mirthful’s throat as he fell to the ground. And Karkat felt one answer from his own chest. He ran forward, but the others in the circle grabbed him, pulled him back, so he kicked, and clawed, and screamed as loud as his voice would let him.

It didn’t do any good. Karkat watched Mirthful struggle on the ground, blood seeping from his face, was it his nose or teeth that hit the ground first? He couldn’t even care, he was hurt, Mirthful was hurt and it was Karkat’s fault, this was all his fault, how could they, how dare they—

The hands dragged Karkat backward, away from the bleeding Mirthful, leaving him alone with the rest of his caste, and Karkat knew they were going to kill him. They wouldn’t let him live after what he had done, and not even Karkat could stop them. He felt pulled on the flagstones, back and back and back until they opened one more set of doors and tossed Karkat outside.

“ _NO!_ ” Karkat screamed, his first coherent word since he found himself here, and he immediately launched himself at the door, tugging on the handles, pounding on the wood, clawing at the paint. His fingers started to leave streaks of hateful red on the entrance before he realized, he didn’t have to use his hands. Karkat found his sickles—plain and silvery, little more than training weapons but they’d have to do—and started hacking at the door.

“GIVE HIM BACK! HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! DON’T HURT HIM! YOU CAN’T! I WON’T—I WILL BURN THIS DEN OF CLOWNS TO THE GROUND IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW! _OPEN THIS DOOR AND GIVE HIM BACK!!!_ ”

And then the door did open. And Karkat realized that was the absolute last thing that should have happened.

A single troll stood in the entrance, clad in black with rings of purple on his legs and running up his chest in stripes, like ribs. He wore his sign low, beneath his belt, with the sign of the Makara bloodline. The paint on his face didn’t follow the geometry of his caste. Sharp angles of his skull paint looked like flames, blazing around his snarling teeth and pure-white, ghostly eyes.

“What the motherfuck are you doing, knocking on my motherfucking door!?” the troll growled, low and loud, and Karkat could only whimper and cry in his face. This was a very different Grand Highblood. No more Beforus. No more safety.

The Highblood took a step forward, and Karkat skittered back. Within a moment he tripped over the steps leading to the door and fell down, landing hard on his knees and arms. The Highblood reached down before Karkat could catch his breath, grabbed a fistful of his sweater, and held him at eye level, his feet dangling off the floor.

“Look at this motherfucking maggot,” the Highblood snarled. “Don’t think you’re even worth showin’ to my bitchfishilicious spacesister. You’re a motherfucking disappointment after the last degenerate with your redpop walked this planet.”

Karkat could feel hot tears streaming down his face, too terrified and tortured to say anything back. But nothing seemed to be what the Highblood wanted to hear, and a smile broke out on his face, his fangs sharp as the painted ones covering his lips.

“But this is new… Got the message, didn’t you, motherfucker? That no one wants to hear a single motherfucking word from your squawk tube ever again?” He reached his other hand forward and gripped Karkat’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open. “Got half a mind to tear your motherfucking tongue out right now—before you get any ideas that you’ve got a single idea worth _saying_ coming from that pan of yours…”

He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. He just squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for it to be over. If he just died—if he could have his soul erased from existence, and finally stop being the worst being on the face of the planet—that would be fine.

Another hand gripped his hair. But that shouldn’t be possible, the Highblood had only two hands? And then Karkat couldn’t feel the Highbloods hands at all, there was just someone pulling on his hair, pulling him up to a sitting position. Where was he?! Who was this!? After passing from one crazy bubble into another, Karkat had no idea if this was friend or foe, so he lashed out with fists until something connected. Someone yelped and let go of his hair, and finally free from pain, Karkat had a chance to see what was going on.

His surroundings were dark. Chaotic. Full of haphazard piles of junk and stolen property. So Karkat woke back up in the vents, right? That was the agreement. Karkat could nap and then Gamzee would wake him up. But Karkat could see Gamzee in front of him, eyes scrunched closed as he covered his mouth. And when he pulled his fingers away, they were coated with some drops of purple blood.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to! I was half-asleep, I didn’t know—you—!” Karkat struggled to speak.

Gamzee’s bloodied hand curled into a fist of his own. “Better be sorry… you said you’re trying to keep me sane, so you motherfucking sucker-punch me?!”

“I was scared—there was a nightmare, I’m sorry—"

But Gamzee wasn’t listening. He moved too fast for Karkat to follow, and before he even knew what was happening, Gamzee had taken another fistful of hair to hold Karkat still. A shock like a stab and impact all at once passed into him through his eye, and Karkat couldn’t stop himself from crying all over again.

“You deserve more,” Gamzee rasped at him. “But I pity you too motherfucking much to give it to you. Ain’t that kind of me?”

Karkat’s chest heaved and his shoulders shook from crying, but he managed to nod. A moment later, Gamzee released him, and left Karkat alone on the floor of the Bard’s cramped den. Karkat tried to cry as quietly as he could, but if it wasn’t enough, at least he knew he’d deserve whatever Gamzee wanted to do to him about it.


	45. Avalanche and Breaking Point

_ Nepeta had never lived anywhere cold enough to see deep snowdrifts. A year into her civilization, after missing a reference in a poetry recital, Trueshot had taught her about avalanches. He had showed her encyclopedias, science books, and pictures of dark mountains crested with white caps. She had read stories of mountaineers who traveled between these peaks and a terrible danger that haunted them, where a few small shifts in the snow at the top would cause thousands of pounds of the stuff to bury them. Just a few snowflakes sticking together, falling down, gathering more flakes, and more and more and more, could spell ruin for these explorers. Trueshot had taken pains to emphasize how much pain and damage avalanches could cause. But, living as she was now, Nepeta got the feeling that avalanches were only dangerous to people at the foot of the mountain. If she was riding the top, surfing above the tumbling snow, then an avalanche could be exhilarating. _

_ As they sailed out, Nepeta helped the new recruits find their places. The Chimeric, Seafarer, and Captain collaborated on the next destination. The veterans, feeling validated in their choice after seeing more trolls choose it, embraced the responsibility to teach and mentor. Those who didn’t know how to sail or climb would be taught, and they would teach the climbers and sailors in turn. With their two ships fuller and busier than ever, it felt like life had returned to this new normal, though everyone lived tighter and the supplies were sure to run out faster. _

_ When they reached the first suitable cove to try and put down anchor and gather more water and food from the wilderness, the rebels found it occupied. A light ship half the size of the  _ Absolution  _ but with almost as many sails rested near the shore. The little boat didn’t look like it belonged to the Empire, and everyone raised flags in favor of talking. The Chimeric selected the Mirthful, Seafarer, and Nepeta as his ‘envoy.’ She could almost feel her own uncertainty mirrored by the other two about why the Chimeric wanted them with him, but after all she had learned about the Chimeric’s secrets, a little more trust wouldn’t hurt anyone. They rowed ashore in one of the little boats and waited for the captain of the little ship to arrive.  _

_ The other ship sent three people: a greenblood wearing solid belts across his chest and an enticing feather in his cap, and two especially burly trolls. Nepeta figured they were supposed to be a show of force, but Nepeta had total confidence she and her friends could destroy them if it came to blows. _

_ The Chimeric handled introductions. “I am the Chimeric. These are my companions, known by other names, but called here Tameless, Mirthful, and Seafarer. Who do I address?” _

_ The other boat’s captain swallowed. Any piece of the trolls standing before him had to be intimidating: the Seafarer’s fins, the Mirthful’s missing horn, the Chimeric’s bloodstains, and Nepeta’s entire tattered, feral self. “We… I mean, I am the captain of my ship, Galedash.” _

_ “Are you Galedash or is your ship?” _

_ “I’m sorry?” _

_ “Do I address you or your ship? And which of you is Galedash?” _

_ Nepeta couldn’t help but snicker. The other troll flushed and stiffened his spine. “I am Captain Galedash. My ship is the  _ Hummingbird. _ We’re here on business and if you do not leave this cove, we’ll contact the authorities” _

_ The Chimeric nodded and put a hand on his chin. “I certainly understand that instinct, to seek assistance when faced with insane terrorists. But it makes me question, what kind of business is conducted in unsettled coves?” _

_ “That’s none of  _ your _ business.” _

_ “I don’t think it needs to be. I simply want you to understand that our business occurs outside the law. And I think you understand what that’s like.” Galedash clenched his jaw, and the Chimeric continued. “Either way, I expect that we will need to stay here for a time to resupply. Would you mind terribly sharing the space with us until we are ready to leave again?” _

_ “I do mind! You’re a pack of lunatics and I want nothing to do with you!” _

_ “Let me be clear that you have nothing to gain by being righteously unfriendly,” the Chimeric said. “Besides, I think we might be able to assist you. You’re in this cove for a reason—a business reason, as you mentioned—so you’re either here to buy something or sell something. Which is it?” _

_ “…Sell.” _

_ “Excellent. So what would you say if we promised to use our presence here to help you command a generous price for your goods. Maybe it’d be more than your buyers expect, but what are they going to say to a pack of lunatics who outnumber, outgun, and outfight them?” _

_ “Would your band of thugs be willing to do that?” _

_ “Absolutely. I just ask that you give us a chance to get to know you a little. We tend to fight more fiercely on behalf of friends than strangers. We’ll probably have some kind of bonfire set up soon, once we get the chance to disembark and spread our legs. You’re welcome to join us.” _

_ The Chimeric stuck out his hand, and after a minute, Galedash shook it. _

_ It took another five days for Galedash’s buyers to arrive, and when they did, Galedash gladly brought rebels with him to the negotiating table and extorted his buyers for nearly double what his crates of strange-smelling mystery stuff had previously been worth. Though happy with his earnings, Galedash didn’t leave immediately. He said he just wanted a little longer to consult his maps and business schedule, but Nepeta knew the truth. In another week’s time, they were sailing away with three ships in the fleet. _

_ Thus, the avalanche grew. _

_ The next stop, they needed more supplies than the wilderness could provide. Arrangements for secret parties to go into a population center had to be made, and once again, the ships would have to be far from the city. Nepeta needed to lead everyone to the city—though she had no desire to enter it—but on their way, she started to see signs that she didn’t like. Branches torn, fresh trails too large for animals, noises she couldn’t place as natural. She ordered the rest of the trolls to wait while she investigated, creeping through the underbrush until she came on a few small and poorly-pitched tents, with a gaggle of filthy trolls, reds and browns. She counted about a dozen before she realized what might be happening. _

_ When Nepeta stepped out of the underbrush and into their clearing, the camping trolls huddled together and glared at her with suspicion. She just raised her hands and took slow steps forward. “I’m not here to hurt you. I promise. But it looks like you need help.” _

_ A burgundy woman with short horns, seemingly the leader, stepped in front of her companions. “We don’t need any help from some bleeding-heart greenblood! Just go and forget you saw us!” _

_ “I’m not here because of my blood. I’m here because I saw signs of your camp nearly half a mile away. This is not a good way for you to be living. You’re not prepared for any weather. You’re barely protected from the sun.” _

_ “And what’s it to you?!” _

_ “Just let me ask one question to try and clear this up. Are you ruddies?” _

_ The pack seemed nervous about answering, but their leader nodded, and Nepeta smiled. _

_ “Then pack everything here up and come with me. We’re making a swing by your city to resupply, but we’ll be happy to take on any new volunteers.” _

_ The ruddies didn’t quite trust Nepeta, but half of them agreed to go with her to see if she really could lead them to the Chimeric, and once she proved she could, the rest joined in a heartbeat. Rebels tutored in Nepeta’s own expertise fed them, helped them clean, and treated some minor wounds to get them up and running again. _

_ And thus, the avalanche grew. _

_ Once the supplies were purchased, the Chimeric and some other sneaky sorts moved into town again to spread coded messages. Nepeta knew their brave leader wanted a moment with a computer to try and contact an old friend, the psionic that had taught him how to write that virus, which made sense. Once the evening of recruitment came, those who had been too scared to leave without knowing the ruddies were waiting to receive them took the chance to fly. After the disaster for the Empire that had been the show of force, those they recruited were almost allowed to leave with little more pushback than curfew enforcers trying to slow them down. They backed down after some menacing yells and fighting that, in her roarbeast pride, Nepeta would consider cub playtime. But, they made it back to the fleet and set sail again. _

_ The next step was for the Chimeric to have a meeting plotting their next course, but for some reason, the Captain and Galedash were left out, and Nepeta and the Mirthful were invited instead. It ended up being the four of them, Seafarer included. _

_ “I have bad news, which before anyone panics, is simply a result of too much good news,” the Chimeric said. “We’re low on hammock space.” _

_ “I could a told you that,” the Seafarer groused. _

_ “Yes, but I’m more interested in discussing solutions at this moment. Continued piracy may be helpful, but the larger we get, the less viable our shadowy strategy becomes. Which I do already have a plan for, which I discussed briefly with the Mirthful. I’ll need your assistance to make it work.” _

_ “What do you mean?” Nepeta played along, since the Chimeric just wanted to talk more. _

_ “This rebellion cannot operate in a centralized way for much longer. We’ll be too big, and the Empire will be able to counter us with a show of force transcending the fighting spirit we’ve cultivated here. I propose that our rebellion splits, operates and grows independently for a time, and reunites before finally striking against a settlement.” _

_ “Against a settlement? Doesn’t that contradict your plan about splittin’ up and stayin’ hidden?” _

_ “We’ll be large enough by then. That’s a very far-reaching goal, but in order to further pressure the Compasse to change, we’ll need to negotiate with her as an independent nation. Our members will no longer be runaways, but immigrants.” _

_ “And then what happens?” Nepeta frowned a little bit. She knew the Chimeric’s goals were bigger than just gathering a bunch of people to live among the wild on some boats, but what would happen if they had a stationary capital? Would they just start re-creating the society they sacrificed everything to leave? And where did this fit in with the Chimeric’s vision of his own death? Did he want to build something that would outlive him, and that’s why he wanted a settlement? _

_ “Then, I’m not sure. Either the Compasse will be humbled and willing to accept our ways as her own, and all of Beforus will be united again, but changed forever. Or everyone will learn to live with a two-nation planet, with the Empire of Compassion and Republic of Freedom living alongside each other.” _

_ “Or we’ll be crushed and stricken from history,” the Seafarer said. _

_ “I think everyone here has a vested interest in not being crushed and will fight to stop that.” _

_ Nepeta turned to the Mirthful. “You’ve been silent so far. Is this because he’s already spoken to you?” _

_ He shrugged. “This is my first time hearing about motherfucking republics and nations and humbling. I just don’t got much of a motherfucking opinion about our long term goals, so why should a passive motherfucker like me influence the vote?” _

_ The Seafarer clicked his tongue in disapproval, but Nepeta nodded at him. Really, it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore that the Mirthful oriented his entire existence around the Chimeric. It’d be sad if he had anything else he was capable of doing. _

_ “I need all of you to focus on the present,” the Chimeric said, changing the subject back to its original subject. “These splinters will need leaders, and each must operate as competently as the next as fighters, survivalists, navigators, and recruiters. I need more help to determine who the leaders and vital components of each splinter should be.” _

_ “How many are you lookin’ to create?” the Seafarer asked. _

_ “Ten or twelve. They’ll all be starting from where we started: barely enough to survive, but equipped with the tools to grow quickly.” _

_ Nepeta nodded again. Now this was something she could understand. Simple, immediate, and relying on her bonds with the rest of the rebellion. “I have a few names in mind now. Or do you want them later?” _

_ “Later is fine. Think on them. And we need to keep in mind who would be flame and fuel together, and be sure to keep them apart.” The Chimeric stood up. “We four will stay together. But once we’re through, the Empire should be unable to tell which cell is ours.” _

_ Maybe she was being short-sighted to take the Chimeric at his word and not ask further questions. She already knew about his stone fragments, and his prophecy, and his death. He was the only one who had to follow destiny. The free and wild Nepeta could do as she pleased, and building these new groups of rebels felt like exactly the kind of challenge she wanted to sink her teeth into. _

__

* * *

“So you’re sure she was the Beforan Peixes?”

“She had her sign on her chest, soooooooo…”

“I just want to be sure it’s not some really strange Feferi from some surreal timeline where we all just decided to become even bigger assholes than we are.”

“Nope. She even matched the description from the dancestors we have met. Out-curling horns with braids longer than her body.”

“Okay, that checks out. And she just kinda looked at you and left?”

“Basically! It was really weird! I couldn’t even think of anything to ask her in time, but I know she must have been a really big deal for her team. I want her on our side but I’m not sure how to get her.”

“I heard that she responds well to money.”

“I gave all my money to John…”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“What makes you think _ now  _ is the right time to bring that up?”

Terezi giggled, covering her strong feeling that Vriska wasn’t telling the whole story. She couldn’t smell a lie, the way she could whenever Vriska used to claim that she was being so super helpful to Tavros when she was really just bullying and hurting him, but there was a piece Vriska had left out. 

“Maybe we can request a loan from Dave or Rose. Or figure out if she’ll join us for another reason. Something about the fact that she’s genetically identical to the Condesce gives me the feeling that she won’t altruistically decide that the salvation of reality is enough of a reason to fight.”

“Any chance you can get the humans to part with their boonbucks? Dave never liked me and I think Rose is pissed off at me.”

“For what?”

“Just for trying to stay focused on the path that will lead us to victory! Seriously, she was going oooooooon and  _ oooooooon _ about irrelevant shit from the ancient past, and when I helpfully suggested she put it down in her book so I could read it later, she got mad and stormed out!”

Terezi sniffed, trying to place exactly where on the scale of truth that landed. The actions and their motives sounded right, but the reactions were a bit too pungent, exaggerated to suit her needs. “You’re definitely not blameless in that, but I understand where you’re coming from, so I’ll let it slide.”

“I don’t need your permission to do things.”

Terezi laughed at Vriska’s belligerence again, thinking a bit more on the task at hand. Between the scarf and the already threatening list of villains awaiting them in the new session, Terezi trusted Vriska’s judgment that the best thing to do right now was prepare for a final fight, everyone’s last stand to try and win a new universe. The scarf helped Terezi understand the choices that had led a doomed Terezi to kill Vriska rather than letting her go to fight Jack, but she couldn’t understand the choices that would lead to that Terezi and her entire team facing an end so terrible that John had to find some bullshit time-travel method to go back and taunt her onto a better path.

Vriska had helped, maybe without realizing it. Terezi might have stewed on this information and kept it all inside, but Vriska wanted to know the truth. With relentless determination, she pulled together whatever they had to work with to try and summon up a useful dreambubble. She figured Aranea had to have been involved, along with the Condesce, and the crew from the meteor, and some human dancestors. Vriska’s lucky streak only brought them to the forests of LOFAF, which Terezi found to be a grave misnomer now that all the frosty-fresh snow had melted and left behind hummingbird-infested jungles and a cacophony of ribbits. Walking together made Terezi remember their old FLARPing campaigns, but she tried not to dwell on those lest the dreambubble fuse with one from Alternia. It just felt really nice to be here with Vriska, like she had someone to rely on no matter how dangerous or crazy the path ahead became.

Speaking of a crazy path, the forest started to thin. Terezi felt the air around her get a lot more open and a lot more heated. She smelled lime fire to one side and cherry fire to the other, with a great lake of boiling strawberry syrup to the center, broken by some pillars of white like chalk sticks.

“Now this is more like it,” Vriska said. “I knew I could find this.”

“What exactly were you aiming for with ‘this?’” Terezi asked.

“I was thinking about how we found Aranea, and that she had some involvement in an over-complicated scheme with motives and means I can’t fucking keep track of. But you remember when she met us, and she was so startled to see all of us alive, especially me?”

“Yeah…”

“This is something similar to the memory where we found her, which means this should be the memory where shit started getting real. There’s something we need to discover here.”

Terezi stepped forward and sniffed around a little more. The two tones of fire crackled and burned, but they didn’t spread, contained by the boundaries of the memory. But other than that, the memory seemed deserted. “I’ll say good work on this one, but what if this is a dead end? Everything smells like catastrophe here, but since we don’t know what’s going on, we can’t make the memory replay. And there aren’t any ghosts around here to help us, right?”

“Look, I just did something incredibly awesome, finding this dreambubble! How about a little ‘wow, thanks Vriska! You’re so beautiful and talented!’ Luck technically isn’t even supposed to function in the Furthest Ring like this, but guess who’s too lucky for that rule to apply to her? That’s right, me.”

Terezi rolled her scarred eyes. Some things never changed. “Fine; thanks for the memory. Now let’s find out if this memory is actually useful or if you’re just showboating your victory over dreambubble hellscape.”

The only path available to them appeared to be forward, so Vriska and Terezi helped each other off the ledge of the forest and onto the chalk stick bridge through the lava. As Terezi’s feet touched it and she got a closer sniff, she realized the bridge was actually a fallen tower. Turning her nose in the other direction, she smelled the stump of Jade’s home.  _ Someone broke her house and dropped it across the lava pit. Was it just to make a handy bridge, or was it an attack? _ Both possibilities made sense, decision-wise, but who would make that choice? She couldn’t know for sure why it had been done until she knew who had done it.

A part of her wished an idiot in blue pajamas would pop out of nowhere with a clue. Then the rest of her wanted to slap that part of her, and then slap John. Terezi Pyrope shouldn’t need undignified  _ hints _ to get the right culprit.

She and Vriska continued along the side of Jade’s tower. Ahead, she could smell some differences in elevation, as some chunks of the tower appeared to be sinking faster than others. It kind of blocked her ability to determine if the tower spanned the entire lake or ended in the middle. 

Right as she opened her mouth to say something about the terrain ahead, something emerged from the lava like a sea creature breaching the surface. She and Vriska took a step back as the surfacing being swallowed a gasp of air, then flailed around like it was trying to swim through the lava. Terezi smelled gray and black and two pinpricks of orange.

“Fuck, that’s  _ Karkat _ !” Vriska said it aloud first, but she ran to the edge of the tower and offered her hand to the drowning troll. Terezi followed suit, kneeling down and sticking out her cane for further reach. Karkat eventually grasped onto the hand and rod offered to him, and the Scourge Sisters dragged him onto solid memory-ground. The lava had done no damage to Karkat’s form as far as Terezi could tell—he still smelled like a lump of gray in pants and sweater, but two other scents reached her: the crystal-white emptiness of ghostly eyes, and two trails of candy red dripping from holes in his front.

He caught his breath quickly—a special Vantas ability, no doubt—but the first words out of his mouth surprised Terezi. “I’m so sorry,” he started. “I didn’t get there sooner, I couldn’t stop him, and now everything is fucked sixteen thousand ways, and I don’t know what he did to  _ you _ …”

Okay, shit, what was Terezi supposed to do now? Vriska wisely understood that Karkat was addressing Terezi and didn’t say anything yet. But this was exactly Terezi’s weakness, genuine emotions of regret! She could barely voice those aloud to Vriska, let alone someone like Karkat or Dave…

Hang on, she did know this. She just needed to be Dave a little bit. “It’s okay, Karkat, just calm down. You haven’t done anything to me and I’m fine. Just take a look! My tree stands tall and unshaken by even twenty thousand fucks.”

She heard Vriska next to her whisper, “What…?” in confusion. Maybe Terezi should leave the Dave-ing to the Strider Original, but her weird words had the desired effect. Karkat stopped rambling and looked up at her, his eyebrows pinching together.

“You’re… alive?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re blind?”

“…What else would I be?”

Karkat dragged a hand over his face, trying to match his lived existence with Terezi’s testimony, while she did the same. Was curing her blindness even possible? Why would she do such a thing? But while they were pondering, Karkat turned a little to the right and noticed Vriska there. “Wait,  _ she’s _ alive too?”

“Wow, so  _ nice _ to see you, Kaaaaaaaarkaaaaaaaat!” Vriska drawled, a sour note in her voice. “I am just so glad to see you and hear your  _ good wishes _ about my alive-status!”

“Fuck you and your self-important drama streak, if  _ you’re  _ alive—if you’re  _ both _ alive—then does that mean… fuck, was all of this a doomed timeline!?”

“Looking like it,” Terezi said, hoping she sounded placating after Vriska’s haughty sarcasm. “Is there any way you can help us figure out what happened here? Or what happened to you?”

The ghost of Karkat barked a short laugh. “What  _ happened _ to me?!  _ Gamzee _ happened to me, he had a fake God Tier outfit and he was kicking the shit out of you—my you, not you you—and I rushed him, but he took your swords and sucker-stabbed me through the chest and dropped me into all this fucking lava! I don’t know if Kanaya met the same fate or not, she was there too, and it’s almost certain that he killed you—”

“So all of this was Gamzee on a murder rampage again?” Vriska asked.

“I mean, not all of it, but we should have seen it coming,” Karkat said. “He was up to something, but I had no idea what until it was too late.”

“Maybe it’s not too late for us,” Terezi said. “We’re actually from a timeline where we’re still heading toward the new session. We haven’t arrived yet. Do you have any hot tips for handling subjugglator garbage?”

Karkat’s white eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I have a hot tip for you. Throw his Faygo-sticky ass off of the meteor this instant! Don’t even bother with him! He’s made choice after choice to kill and hurt everyone who he used to call friend and I say he can rot in hell forever!”

Vriska actually chuckled at that. “Well, good luck telling that to your living self.”

“What do you mean?”

“We tried to enact some justice against Gamzee, but you jumped out of nowhere and stopped us. No one’s been able to get ahold of him to confirm, but we think our Karkat is our Gamzee’s moirail.”

“Oh, no…” Karkat sat up a little straighter. “No, no, no, no, why is alternate-past me so stupid?! You can’t just shoosh codpiece-based murder-lust away, the most it does is suppress it for a little bit, and keeping it up involves staying inundated in shitty raps and murder thoughts! Take your Karkat and shake him by the shoulders until he  _ stops _ !”

“He’s kind of been ignoring all of us too,” Terezi added.

“Whatever it takes! Fuck, just let me talk to him! Get him into a dreambubble and I will find and school his ass in why we don’t just hand our pale quadrants to clowns that don’t give a shit whether you live or die!”

“Wait, but what about the rest of this scene? This timeline? What else happened here?” Vriska tried to change the subject.

Karkat just folded his arms. “That’s my deal. I’m not spilling a single fart nibblet until you get my alternate living self here so I can slap some goddamn sense into his think pan and maybe stop your timeline from being just another doomed offshoot!”

Terezi turned to Vriska and shrugged. “That sounds pretty ultimatum-y to me. Think we can get the rest of the gang on board with this?”

Vriska huffed. “Fine. But we’ll be back, do you hear me?”

“Come back with the other Karkat and then we’ll talk. It sounds like he’s long overdue for a lesson in basic self-preservation.”


	46. Gather and Disperse

_ When the response arrived, Sollux could barely believe what he was looking at. For one, he had grown accustomed to the near-sweep of silence, like the username chimericGuerilla was nothing more than a diary with an infuriatingly depressing pretend pen-pal identity. But no, those were crimson words on his screen, bright and loud as the sender. He fired up a few extra programs to hide his tracks and read it, which second of all, made him angrier. The Chimeric’s text had absolutely nothing to do with the messages Sollux had been tossing his way, asking for any kind of sign that their deal for assistance still had any validity to it. It was just a series of links and some sparse instructions. No ‘how have you been,’ no ‘sorry for scaring the shit out of you.’ Maybe Sollux would have to re-read that first conversation with the Chimeric since his rebellion began if he wanted to see the Chimeric apologize to him. _

_ Before delving too deep into the content of the links, Sollux did a trace on the message and a search for recent news reports about the activities of the ruddies. The two locations matched up: recruitment efforts in the same city from which the Chimeric had sent this message. So it also looked like the Chimeric had limited access to technology in the first place, which at least explained the long silences, even if it didn’t excuse them. Surely if the Chimeric wanted to keep Sollux as an ally, he’d want to make sure they stayed in contact, wouldn’t he? Maybe they could invest in one of those basic text communicators that warm cullers often left their even warmer charges with, to send small alerts and updates. But doing something like that would mean involving himself with the ruddies even further, and he still only felt half-convinced they were worth supporting in the first place. _

_ Whatever. Messages time. _

_ Sollux opened the first link. It was a picture of an article from a tabloid just large enough to be legible. Dated nearly five sweeps ago now, it was about a jadeblood captured while trying to avoid returning to the brooding caverns. The article featured one beautiful picture of the Mistress in question, posed with one leg kicked high in an elegant dance, and another blurry picture with a troll surrounded by Vigilants and reinforcementers.  _ Those two pictures don’t look anything alike. It’s no guarantee that’s even her getting arrested. What bullshit.

_ He read on, mostly details about the escape, before he actually found something that might give him a clue as to what was going on:  _ Mistress Sundance spent the last two sweeps in residence at Her Radiant Compassion’s palace, where she served as a dance instructor to members of the royal court.

_ So she was around when the Chimeric was growing up. And if the Chimeric had either saved or knew how to find this article, he knew her story well enough that he was probably around when the shit went sideways. Sollux clicked the next link and found it led him to a very familiar story of horror. It was the Grand Highblood’s announcement that he had excommunicated the Mournful, but the way the Chimeric had coded the link, it brought him directly to a specific passage:  _ …our former brother declared that he had piled the young motherfucker at age six _ … _

_ Sollux nearly felt sick just remembering how this had all began. The political revolution and kidnappings and murders after had done a great job of disguising the fact that one of his good friends had been subject to conciliatory abuse right under his nose. Thanks. But if he could force that aside, the basic math made sense. Chimeric was around eleven. Five sweeps ago, he was six, and Mistress Sundance got thrown back in the caverns, and that’s when the Mournful decided to take advantage of him, probably because he was so distraught. Fine, he could put two and two together. _

_ The third link was a sentimental article about a troll whose moirail was jadeblooded, talking about the security checkpoints in place at the mouth of the brooding caverns and how it made them feel oh so sad and blah blah blah. The fourth was a link to a library’s website, pre-searched for all their cavebreak novels.The fifth talked about experimental blood sequencing and the protein markers in each caste’s hue. _

You can’t be serious, CM…

_ Then the sixth link led to an unlisted webpage, totally unsearchable by anyone who didn’t already have the link. In just a few sparse lines of red text, the Chimeric gave his orders. _

MY OLD TEACHER DESERVES TO BE FREE. SHE’S THE ONLY REGRET I HAVE LEFT. LET ME RECRUIT FROM THE JADES ONCE. I NEED ACCESS TO THE BROODING CAVERNS FOR TWO TROLLS, WHATEVER THAT TAKES. DELIVER THE SOLUTION ON NEXT SWEEP’S DIMMEST DAY IN THE NINTH PERIGEE’S NINTH DAY.

_ Sollux read the instructions a few more times, trying to come to grips with what it meant. The Chimeric wanted him to hack the unhackable. This pretty much qualified. The caverns were easily the most secure location on the entire planet! Had he lost even more of his mind? It just wasn’t possible, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t even try… _

_ The articles were still open, so Sollux moved to close them in the order he opened: first the science article, then the library, then the memoir. But when he had two tabs open, he hesitated. The Grand Highblood’s statement contrasted against the report of Mistress Sundance’s arrest made something twist in his chest. That timing between the arrest and the Mournful’s abuse of his cullee spoke volumes about exactly how upset the wiggler Chimeric had been when this scandal broke. And he called it his ‘only regret left.’ Fuck, what if he regretted being unable to save Sundance precisely because it opened the door for the Mournful to abuse him, setting his life on this path of destruction?  _

_ That was a stretch, but now that Sollux had imagined it, he couldn’t get the idea out of his pan. The Chimeric had lost any chance of doing what he truly wanted with his life, either by his own actions or by actions taken against him. And there was just one person he wanted to save. Sollux looked again at the time limit and realized he had nearly a sweep and a half before the Chimeric needed his solution. If he had given Sollux just a few perigees, he might have flipped his desk and called the authorities. But since he had time to work, he had time to think. He’d need some cosmetic disguise elements, like contact lenses and prosthetic horns, but the hard part would come with a blood check. And that check would need to match a record in the caverns’ system, to verify that the sample wasn’t faked… _

_ Sollux slid away from his computer and started to pace around his block. He needed to be reasonable about this. To not get caught up in the emotions of it all.  _ Think it through, cull-bee.

_ One recruitment event from the caverns. So much could go wrong. If senior auxiliatrices left their posts, would the health of the Mother Grub be in jeopardy? Well, what was even the likelihood of jades deciding to go with him? Sundance would obviously go, and there was some debate about the rights of jadebloods considering their essential role in reproduction, but what about the jadebloods on the surface, who could easily leave and join the ruddies whenever they wanted? If jades weren’t willing to leave when the going was easy, why would any of them leave the cavern? _

_ And this was the only regret he had left. _

_ He took a minute more to try and compose himself. This project would cross a new line: he wouldn’t just be willfully ignoring evidence about the Chimeric and his movements, he’d be actively assisting the ruddy rebellion. That’d be a new low for him. But, when he sat back down at the husktop, he sent a message back, even as he didn’t expect a response. _

TA: fiine, you conviinced me  
TA: 2 pa22e2 two the broodiing cavern2 comiing up  
TA: youre fuckiing welcome

 

* * *

 

After a few days and some knee-shivering makeouts with an alien vampire, Rose came to terms with the fact that she would not receive an apology from Vriska Serket. She would probably never receive an apology from Vriska Serket, for anything, ever, for all time, unless some other extortion came into play. She might need to kiss Kanaya more before she could be fully at peace with her fellow Light player’s combination of egotism and ignorance.

Or maybe she’d just kiss Kanaya anyway and give up on Vriska altogether.

Perhaps it was her kiss-fueled euphoria that convinced her to respond to Vriska’s grandiose summons as they arrived. It did come with a little verification from Terezi that TH1S R34LLY 1S K1ND OF 1MPORT4NT SO COM3 S33 US PL34S3. 

Rose showed the messages to Kanaya. “What do you think?”

Kanaya narrowed her eyes at them. “I suppose we could take a break to deal with whatever they have been up to.”

They got distracted for a minute, because kissing was super nice, and then it took another few more minutes to clean up the lipstick stains (which Rose might feel more bold about leaving shamelessly undisturbed next time, if Vriska couldn’t learn to play nice) before they were ready to meet the team in the common area. Dave was actually already present, possibly because he would trust a message from Terezi much faster than Rose would.

“Good, we’re all here,” Vriska said.

“Karkat is missing,” Kanaya informed her.

“Karkat is the subject of this meeting. The short version is, it’s time to get Shouty Loudass out of the vents and back among the sane people on this meteor.”

Terezi coughed, and Vriska rolled her eyes. “Fine, the  _ less  _ insane people. We met a ghost of Karkat from a really fucked up timeline and he warned us against giving Gamzee a single inch. Apparently he was responsible for a lot of the pain and death that led to him being doomed.”

“We’re not just basing this action on the testimony of a single slighted ghost, I assume?” Rose looked to Terezi for an answer to this one.

“Not at all, Miss Cantaloupe. We still need the timeboxes back, and Karkat hasn’t been moving very fast on their retrieval. Plus, there’s the fact that Karkat and Gamzee seem to be sharing a quadrant, and there’s about no chance that’s going well at all. That’s another thing Ghost Karkat wanted to impress on us, that we need to break up Gamzee and Karkat before we can make any progress forward.”

“Sold to the highest bidder, the dope gent in the back with the shades,” Dave said. “But now how do we talk to Karkat? He’s been kind of ignoring everyone else too, right?”

“He has,” Kanaya said. Rose heard a little regretful note in her voice, and a few vague pieces slotted together.  _ Kanaya wanted to reach out and help. _ She didn’t need to perceive any more to know that hadn’t gone well.

“I was thinking Rose could assist us with that,” Vriska said with a smile.  _ Yep, not a single acknowledgement of what she said. Typical. _ “That spell you blasted when Gamzee first turned the tables on us got him out of the vents quick. We don’t know exactly where he’s hidden right now, but that spell could make enough noise to get Karkat out into the open where we can talk to him.”

“And what are we going to say?” Rose asked.

Terezi announced, “As soon as Karkles shows his face, we’re not letting him get away until he’s heard us out and agreed to speak with his doomed self. This is a full-blown intervention.”

Rose had to raise an eyebrow, but that was just to keep her from raising both and looking genuinely surprised. Things were bad with Karkat, that much was for sure, but an actual intervention? She had read extensively about them and seen some fictionalized accounts portrayed in TV dramas that her mom left on sometimes to accompany her alcohol-induced naps, but did they apply to this situation? Would Karkat be receptive? And she could feel Dave and Kanaya looking at her too, damn her reputation as a psychological expert! She was fifteen, for fuck’s sake, and even as a god and hero, something about the task ahead felt too daunting.

“So we sit Karkat down, tell him we care about him for his own good, then what?” Dave asked.

“We’ll go on a clown hunt. Whether Karkat agrees with us or not, we’re not going to leave him with an option to run back to Gamzee. He could do something stupid like decide the murder clown can change if he just paps him a few more times.”

“I agree with the sentiment but not with the execution,” Kanaya said. “If Karkat does not agree with us that Gamzee is guilty of unforgivable crimes, then his sympathies for him could lead him to more explicit action such as sabotage. I think we will only be able to act until Karkat is present and understands our point of view. He may want to recant his permission to act against Gamzee at a later date but it needs to at least initially be his idea to defeat him.”

Vriska nodded, looking half-impressed and half-miffed, like she agreed with Kanaya’s reasoning but wished she had thought of it. In Rose’s opinion, Vriska could chill the fuck out, because Kanaya was smart and tactful and beautiful and Rose was certain those facts remained true even with the exaggeration implicit in Rose’s bias in Kanaya’s favor.

“Okay, fine. So we’ll hold off on the attack until Karkat’s come back from dreaming about his doomed ghost and hopefully he’ll have some more sense in his think pan about the whole thing. Then someone will take care of grubsitting him while the rest of us make Gamzee pay.”

“I can do the grubsitting,” Dave said.

“We’ll choose that later. What matters now is getting through to Karkat…” Vriska turned to Rose and actually looked her in the eye. “Ready to rip magic horrorterror lightning through the vents?”

Rose pulled her needles from her specibus. Maybe her preferred method of stress relief following dealing with Vriska’s obnoxious attitude would be kissing, but some wanton violence would probably do the trick too.

 

* * *

 

_ The list of leaders started to emerge. Eridan put together his list of fifteen or so trolls he’d be comfortable recommending for leadership, his thorough report concerning their shortcomings and successes. When it came time to discuss with the other three, Eridan actually found they had a lot of the same names. The Captain. The Initiate. The Deadbeat. Galedash. Even trolls who stood above their peers for special skills but didn’t quite make the cut for leadership had other friends that could serve as lieutenants, creating a foundation on which a splinter cell could be built. Then, the rest of the trolls could be sorted in accordance with their bonds and their skills until twelve teams of roughly fifty started to take shape. Not all of them would have ships, so some would simply operate on land, only to return to seafaring if they chose. _

_ It was going to be dangerous. But seeing it all planned out like this, Eridan understood it was less dangerous than swelling to unwieldy proportions until the Compasse popped them like a bubble. _

_ Eridan wanted to be present for the leadership offers, though it wasn’t feasible for him to be there for all of them. He was present when the Chimeric tasked Galedash with commanding his blockade-runner ship with full authority again, but under a crimson banner. Then he held the Initiate’s hands tight, praised her progress since leaving the Stalwart’s institute, and reassured her she was ready. Then he listed out all of the perks and resources that the Captain would command as the leader of her own cell until she cracked a smile. Then he asked the Deadbeat to lead, and the troll gave the Chimeric a look like he had been stabbed in the gullet. _

_ “Do you not want to do this?” the Chimeric asked. _

_ “It’s… not that,” the Deadbeat stammered. “I just never… thought of myself as someone who could… lead.” _

_ “What do you think now?” _

_ “I think I don’t have a choice.” _

_ “Of course you have a choice.” _

_ “No, no, no, not like that,” the Deadbeat managed to smile a little. “I’ve been weaseling out of responsibility for my entire life. Even if you made this the most mandatory requirement, if I didn’t want to do it, I’d be gone. But I know it’s a choice. And I can’t choose anything but ‘yes.’” _

_ “What makes you say that?” _

_ The Deadbeat snorted. “Maybe because I give a shit for the first time in my life.” _

_ The Chimeric reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. A lot gets done just by giving a shit, believe me.” _

_ “I do. Mother mighty, I do.” _

_ The news spread a little further to the proposed lieutenants before the Chimeric felt the need to tell everyone. At another landing, with six hundred trolls and change gathered around him, the Chimeric praised their growth, their power, and momentum, and described how all of those successes made it necessary to split. Some commotion rose up as people realized this would mean separating from each other, but the Chimeric raised his hands and yelled for quiet. _

_ “I know that many of you are here for the sake of others,” he started. “I understand that deeply, and I know that the strength of these cells will be determined by the trust between the members. No one is leaving today, and there will be plenty of time to revise the rosters. That said, I must also reassure all of you that we  _ will  _ see each other again! We need to spend some time, a little over a sweep, operating and growing independently, forging our own identities and then coming together as a whole to claim our first settlement! That will be a day when all of Beforus knows that our determination to create a freer world for all of us to share is stronger than the Compasse’s chains!” _

_ That was met with a cheer, and the Chimeric took that as a sign to announce the names of the twelve sect leaders, bold and humble and excited and steadfast. The Chimeric had the full first-draft rosters to post, rather than reading aloud, and duties on their ships and on land missions would be divided among those teams for the leaders to have their cell complete however they wanted. It didn’t matter their approach so long as the task was done. While everyone else moved to read the cell breakdowns, Eridan moved toward the Chimeric and nudged his head, asking for a chance to speak alone. _

_ “I was wondering when you would want to speak with me,” the Chimeric asked. _

_ “And this won’t be the last, mark my words,” Eridan told him. “I just want to know what you’re thinkin’ for the worst case scenario.” _

_ “This pessimism again, do you ever tire of it?” _

_ “I don’t need your freshness now. Say the other sects are captured. Or dissolve due to infightin’. Or when we reunite, they’ve had ideological drift and decide to challenge your authority. What then?” _

_ “I expect all of that to happen, but not to the degrees you fear. We’ll have losses from arrests, combat, and desertion. When we reunite, the sects will be different from each other. But I know we’ll be fine.” _

_ “How so?” _

_ “That prophecy. It’s been right so far and I expect to see it through to the end.” _

_ “What else has it been right about?” _

_ “My errands, mostly. But also that every catastrophic danger we’ve faced has been overcome. We will prevail.” _

_ “For how long do you see us prevailin’?” _

_ “At least two sweeps more.” _

_ “And then?” _

_ “Why does then matter now?” _

_ “You’ve piqued my curiosity, with all your talk a the future.” _

_ The Chimeric stalled. “I know we’re going to have a final battle. A confrontation with a force I can’t beat, sent by a friend I must betray. And once that event happens, Seafarer… you’ll need to make sure the wigglers are found.” _

_ “The who?” _

_ “It was a sweep ago now, but after my titling day, when everything went to shit. You probably weren’t listening because I sounded insane. But the future rests on wigglers. Ten or so of them. They need to grow up among  _ this _.” The Chimeric gestured to the crowds of ruddies, still rushing to his posted list and then dividing up to meet their new teammates. “That’s going to be their only chance of winning.” _

_ “And you don’t have anythin’ to give me but ‘ten or so?’” _

_ “Once the next Heiress arrives, you’ll need to know how to break wigglers out of their prisons and bring them to places where they can learn the full extent of their abilities. You’ll have plenty of time to learn how to manage that.” _

_ “What makes you think they’ll be in prisons?” _

_ “I don’t know that for sure. If our movement is successful, those prison bars will be too wide to hold them. You’ll simply need to extend an invitation. If we’re not successful, then you’ll have more work to do.”  _

_ “And when the next Heiress arrives, that will be in fifteen hundred sweeps? I’ll be at the end of my span by then.” _

_ “Trust me, you’ll have enough  _ _ vitality _ _ for the job, dear Seafarer. You still have to see Feferi one last time, too. Before the end.” _

_ Feferi. The Chimeric used that name like a tactical strike, eliminating anything else Eridan wanted to say.  _ Fef, will you still hate me then?

_ The Chimeric knew he had twisted Eridan’s arm. “If there’s nothing else you need me for, I should meet my sect. I’d be happy to discuss this again at a later moment. But think it over for a moment.” _

_ He left Eridan alone and rejoined the others, which gave Eridan space to contemplate what the Chimeric meant. He had to survive because he’d see Feferi at the end. He thought he had been able to move past this sweep-old pain, but something about that scenario ripped the sore wound open. The Compasse, at the end. The end of it all. The Chimeric’s apocalypse, provided it was even real, would lay waste to everything the Compasse had ever built, and everything that her predecessors and protectors had built. Even just imagining the tears on her face in that moment made Eridan want to cry, too. And to think of Eridan’s old age, he would surely be one of only a small number of trolls from this era to see the end. Even if the Mirthful could find the strength to continue existing after the end of the Chimeric’s warmblooded lifespan, Eridan would surely have a few centuries completely alone. _

_ Apparently he had been trying really hard to not think about that. The simple concept of that solitude drove him even closer to weeping. And to see everyone leave him, by their own volition or by inescapable death… _

Feferi, would it make you feel better or worse to see me at the end?

_ He supposed that she should at least hear his apology. Then if she held him close, sent him away, or killed him a moment later, Eridan might find satisfaction. _


	47. Intervention

Seeing Rose work her magic in person made the hair on the back of Kanaya’s neck stand up. Then from those little wisps, thrilling shivers chased down her arms and into her core. Lightning arced between the two points of her wands and flashed light and dark and hypnotic and dangerous. Kanaya had never felt so certain she was in love in her life. Rose gave her a small wink while the spell was building, but soon she needed to devote her energy into casting her arcs of grimdark lighting around the meteor’s ventilation system. The movements reminded Kanaya of Rose’s dancing back in that ballroom memory. Maybe once this was all over, they could have another dance.

Rose’s spell shook the metal vents like thunder, growing louder as it channeled through the sprawling capillaries of ducts. Kanaya watched lamps rattle and books jostle and pillows bounce off the couch. It boomed and shook and trembled until Vriska held out a hand.

“Stop—you might zap us to pieces!” Vriska ordered. Rose twisted her wands around to stop their (or was it her?) power from flowing into the vents. “Start it again if he’s not here in eight minutes.”

“How does Karkat know that this is a signal we wish to speak with him?” Kanaya asked, feeling like she probably should have asked it earlier but her matesprit’s glorious lightning magic distracted her a bit.

Terezi answered her. “I sent him the Trollian messages about it, saying we’re knocking on his door because we want to talk. Then Vriska matched that with messages to Mister Grape Misery about how he should let Karkat see us, or else.”

“Dun dun dun,” Dave said aloud, and Kanaya felt inclined to offer him some type of adulation for his mockery, like a high five or a fist bump, but the appropriate moment passed a little too quickly for Kanaya to act. Next time, then.

Eight minutes passed, and Vriska nodded to Rose, so she started up the spell again, with more booming lightning coursing through the meteor. A minute in, Dave raised his voice to ask a question: “This won’t hurt him, will it?”

“Maybe a little,” Vriska shouted back. “But it’s all the more reason for him to come out and stop us, isn’t it?”

“Fuck no, are you kidding me?! What if hurting him just makes him hide and hate us!? He won’t care if we call Gamzee evil if we electrocute his brain first! Rose, call it off!”

Rose listened to her genetic relative and stilled the lightning again. Vriska folded her arms and glared at Dave. “Oh, who knows soooooooo much about getting Karkat’s attention? I thought he was _ignoring_ you.”

“What the fuck do you know, huh? Karkat told me he’s trying to figure shit out, it was in a dream we shared a few days ago, so there. We don’t have to go Zeus Almighty on his ass to get him to talk to us.”

“Cool kid, ordinarily I’d agree with you, but we don’t have time to grubbie-gloves this. We need him to talk to us now, and we need to make sure we have his attention,” Terezi argued.

“Look, all in favor of lightning?” Rose asked the group. Terezi and Vriska raised hands. “And those opposed?” Dave raised his hand. Kanaya waited for Rose’s vote, but then realized everyone was waiting for hers.

“Um… I would definitely, personally, prefer a course of action that minimizes the harm caused due to electrocution…”

“So you’re with me?” Dave asked.

“Maybe?”

“That’s not a yes, so we’re still two to one! Hit it, Rose!”

“I’m sorry, ‘hit it’ is not a command I recognize.” Rose scowled at Vriska again.

“Can you trust us, cool kid? Please? If this doesn’t give results soon, we’ll quit, but we should try one more time!”

“No fucking way, not since now I know this is a real killing spell!”

“Oh, as opposed to my simple baby spells?”

“Please, it’s temporary!”

“Temporary _lightning_!”

Before the argument could get much worse, a familiar and ornery voice interrupted, “What the hell are you doing, you utter numbskulls!?”

Everyone turned to Karkat, a wave of relief surrounding the group, at least half because he diffused their impending fight before it took a nasty turn. Despite her personal joy at seeing Karkat, Kanaya could see something that raised alarm bells. Was it her imagination, or was the ring below one of his eyes darker than the other?

“Karkat, you’re finally here!” Terezi showed her sharp grin.

“I’m here to make you _idiots_ shut up! Did you not learn your lesson the last time you fucked with Gamzee? All of this lightning makes me think you have some kind of mass suicide pact together and you’re just waiting for death by juggling club.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Rose said. “This is about you. Do you have a moment to speak with us?”

“Not really, I just came to give the ‘no lightning in the halls’ announcement, but I have to get back.”

“I understand, and I’m quite sorry to hear that, because this meeting is not exactly optional. We need to talk to you. This has gone on for long enough.”

Karkat narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s ‘gone on?’ What are you talking about?”

“This is about you and Gamzee. I know this will not be a comfortable conversation, but it’s one we need to have.” Rose continued. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Not really, I’d like to tell you that you’re full of shit and then leave on my oh-so-merry way! What is so hard to understand about that?”

“As corny as it sounds, we’re doing this because we care about you,” Dave said.

Karkat pointed an accusatory finger his way. “No, nuh-uh, no to the ultimate limit of the meaning of the very syllable, _no_. Detain me, demean me, but don’t you dare deceive me with any sentimental shit-fountain spraying directly in my face. You’re here because you miss the tagalong loser who bolsters your self-esteem.”

“The what?”

“Don’t play dumb! My value to you—all of you here, actually—is so if you ever feel down about yourselves, you can look my way and feel comforted in the fact that at least you’re not the most awful person here. I won that crown and no one seems interested in taking it away from me, but I don’t want to hang around and be your shitty pet!”

Those words gave Kanaya the same unsettled feeling that she got looking at Karkat’s oddly toned face. “We don’t think that about you at all,” she said.

Karkat rolled his eyes. “If you’re not going to own up to it, then I’m out.” But when he turned around, Vriska stood in his path. “Oh my god, this again, can you _not_!? I don’t want to be here anymore and you can’t make me stay!”

“If she won’t stop you, I will,” Terezi said, for once not smiling. “Because I want to know why you think we hate you so much.”

“Do I have to make an itemized list for you!? Are you all really so egocentric that you don’t notice that you keep treating me with the utmost disdain? Vriska, do I even need to spend time listing out why you hate me? You’re pretty much detested any sense of authority I ever had in this team and usurped it from me the first chance you got. Bet you just get that warm, fuzzy feeling inside when you look at me and remember how good it felt to catapult me out of the leadership chair!”

Vriska made a face, pinched-brow and tight-lipped, but didn’t say anything. Kanaya realized that Karkat might be right on the money with his assessment of Vriska’s feelings, and it made that odd sense of dread grow: not because ‘Vriska hates someone’ was a new revelation, but because if Karkat’s delusions of hatred had any rooting in reality, it would be that much harder for everyone else to convince him he was a valued friend.

_Is this my fault too? If I had done more, would he be like this?_

Karkat shook his head a little. “Like you even needed me to explain that. Un-be-fucking-lievable.”

“Look, you and Vriska were never tight,” Terezi took up the discussion. “And this leadership change is just a product of the new environment. We need someone else in charge for a three-year journey through the void than we did for a six hundred hour siege against the Dark Kingdom.”

“So you’re saying it’s temporary? That Vriska has it in her to just step aside and recognize when this doesn’t need to be all about her? Can I get some _confirmation_ from the Thief on this one?” Karkat had a bark of sarcastic laughter after saying that. “Saying the Thief is going to give back something she stole is so ridiculous you might as well tell me that a cholerbear is going to leave an injured grub alone and not swallow it whole.”

“We just don’t know what’s ahead, okay!? Will you cool it and just _think_ about this!?” Terezi countered.

“Now, yelling isn’t going to help.” Rose took a step toward Terezi. “Thank you for your perspective, and we can get back to that, but Karkat, all Terezi means is that your skills as a leader did not match the challenges here in the Furthest Ring, so we shifted. Concerns about Vriska’s leadership style should be tabled for another discussion. This meeting is still about our concern for your recent behavior and how it might be detrimental to your health and well-being.”

“Why are you giving a shit about my health and well-being? You never cared about me in the first place.”

“I’m going to concede on that point that our friendship has been something of a net neutral,” Rose admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I actively want to see you fall to ruin. My failings are not your fault and my successes do not depend on your misery.”

“So you literally just confessed, you don’t care about me!” Karkat pointed to her and then to Vriska. “You and Vriska and Terezi and all the rest of you!”

Rose started to have an expression on her face that mirrored Vriska’s, but she at least got in another barb. “What about the Mayor?”

“The Mayor?” Karkat’s indignant rage cracked just a little. “The Mayor… needed labor. For Can Town expansion… and… fine, the Mayor doesn’t have a single hateful shell in his carapace, but he’s pretty much the only one on this meteor worthy of any sympathy or compassion. The rest of you still hate me, and against every fucking odd I somehow don’t hate the rest of you enough to give up on this completely, so don’t _push me_ , okay!?”

“What is it that you’re not yet giving up completely?” Kanaya had to ask.

“Trying to keep this timeline alive and make sure we don’t have a murder rampage round two. So if that’s all you needed to know to cut it out with the lightning, can I go now?”

“Hang on, Karkat, I don’t hate you.” Dave took a step closer to Karkat. “Like, not even a little bit. You’ve been my best friend on this meteor and you're probably on the short list of people I’d take bullets for. I don’t want you to throw yourself on this clown grenade.”

As Karkat answered, he didn’t look at Dave. “You know, it really doesn’t have the same kick when an immortal god says they’ll take bullets for someone.”

“Oh come on, we both know jumping in front of a gun or sword or laser light show or whatever coming at you all fatal and hot is a heroic way to die.”

“So you’re just using me to be a hero? That thing that you never got to be in the game?” Karkat spat back.

Dave’s shades hid his eyes, but the rest of his face told Kanaya they had just gone wide. Kanaya knew Karkat to be abrasive and full of insults, but he had never gone _that_ low, not without realizing his mistake and instantly backtracking. And now she couldn’t keep quiet. “You’re not acting like yourself, Karkat. You know this, don’t you?”

“I’m acting like how I need to! No one else is here for me so it’s time to dig in my heels and slog through it all.”

“But what makes you think that I hate you? Is it just an absence of meddlesome over-attention? Because I was told that was always a flaw of mine so I actively tried to do less of that.”

“No, Kanaya, you don’t need to spare my feelings on this. I fucked up the Genesis Frog and fucked up the Matriorb. The two things you cared about most in the universe, I ruined. Just stop with the pretend times and acknowledge I’m the worst, okay?”

“Karkat, Eridan destroyed the Matriorb.”

“And I didn’t stop him!”

“And he had just killed Feferi and maybe also Sollux, you had other matters consuming your attention!”

“But if I had just—”

“Karkat, the destructive actions of eleven other trolls are not your sole responsibility to bear! Everyone was disappearing and going rogue and there was no way you could have stopped everything! You’re just you, and nobody expected perfection!”

As those words left her mouth, Karkat blinked, and some red-tinged tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t have been leader in the first place? I wasn’t cut out for it?”

“No—no, that’s not what I meant, I don’t want to imply you were inadequate, I want to absolve you of responsibility for the things that were outside of your control! I blame _Eridan_ for the destruction of the Matriorb, and for all the parts that I can’t pin on him, I blame _myself._ But I want to look to the future about this, and see if there’s a way to restore it in the new session or possibly new universe! I want to look forward, and I want you to be there with me as I do! I want you to help me!”

Karkat rubbed at his tears, and while he could press his hand against one eye just fine, he flinched when touching the other and pulled his hand away quickly. _Is he hurt? What hurt him?_

“After how much I fucked up, I just can’t believe you’d want me to help,” Karkat said. “Can’t Rose do it? Can’t Dave? Someone _competent_?”

“You are competent, Karkat—”

“Give me one example! Just one!”

“The whole plan, to explode the Green Sun and reunite us with the humans escaping the Scratch, that was you!”

“That was Jade! Jade and you and John and the rest of them—”

“If you’re going to take blame for your mistakes, you have to take credit for your successes!” Kanaya’s words felt so sharp leaving her mouth, pointed like the needles of her sewing machine, but there was something inside her making her say them that felt bright and hot and gentle, gentle white. She could practically feel it, like something inside of Karkat tearing him apart, and she wanted so badly to reach inside and rip it out of him and give him peace. She wanted to hug him and speak kindly to him and wipe away those tears…

She didn’t realize how close she had gotten until Karkat swatted one of her hands away. “Don’t _touch_ me! All of you, just trying to convince me I’m worth half a damn so I’ll come back and let you treat me like shit again! It’s not going to work!”

Kanaya cradled her struck wrist, another sentence beginning in her mouth, “We don’t…” when she looked closer at Karkat’s eyes. His tears left trails on his face, and the ones coming from the eye he had been reluctant to touch had an extra _smear_ on it, a gray just a shade lighter than his skin, showing something darker than his usual exhausted circles beneath. And Kanaya’s sentence changed. “You’re wearing concealer.”

“What?”

“Around your eye, there’s concealer. It’s starting to run.”

“Fuck—” Karkat lifted his arm toward his face, but didn’t rub. He just held it there like a screen. “Okay, this conversation is over. Let me go.”

“It sounds like a new one just began,” Terezi said. She deftly lifted her cane and hooked the dragon head around Karkat’s elbow, pulling it back so Kanaya could see again. “What are you trying to hide, Karkles?”

“It’s none of your business!” And where the concealer had started to run, Kanaya could see a very familiar splotch. She had seen Karkat bruised during their session before—never bleeding, always so careful to never bleed—but the dark color under his eye matched bruises she had seen him accumulate in their game.

“Karkat, how did you get a black eye?” Kanaya asked.

“A what?!” Dave interjected.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about! It was an accident!”

“What kind of accident?” Terezi pressed. “Give us detail.”

“Alright, let me just give you all the detail you need!” Karkat took his other hand and produced a rude gesture out of his pocket. “Right there! Fuck you! Fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and leave me the _fuck_ alone!”

“Just answer one question for us—we don’t actually need detail, just please answer honestly.” Rose said. “Did Gamzee do that to you?”

He couldn’t answer immediately, and Kanaya’s stomach dropped. If she didn’t hate Gamzee already, she’d want to see him bisected with her demon ragripper now. Karkat found his words and said, “Okay, so… so I know why this happened. It’s still my fault. Maybe it was Gamzee who did it but it was definitely my fault.”

“Can you even _hear_ yourself right now!?” Dave asked. He dropped his voice into an imitation of Karkat’s shout-strained tone, “‘Oh sure, my boyfriend hits me, but it’s not his fault that he beats me up! It’s all silly old me, I didn’t have his dinner ready when he got home!’”

Now Karkat turned on Dave, finally looking at him. “You don’t have any idea what it’s like for him, or for me! I’m the only one here who’s doing anything to try and help him! It’s slow, and sometimes I fuck up, but I’d take a dozen black eyes if it meant keeping this rock on course to the new session! It’s all I’m good for at this point anyway!”

Kanaya could remember something from nearly half a sweep ago: a conversation between herself, Karkat, Dave, and Rose, when they first learned about the Chimeric and the Mournful and wanted to decide if that story merited investigation. Dave had questions about what qualified as pale abuse, and Karkat rattled off some signs. Exploiting insecurities. Cultivating dependency. Cutting someone off from their social circle. Teaching them they’re worthless but for their ability to make their moirail feel better.

“Is Gamzee the one who told you that we hate you?” Kanaya asked. “And the one keeping you so busy that we had no opportunity to prove otherwise?”

Karkat didn’t answer Kanaya directly. What he did say came with more tears. “He’s a total fuck-up. Gamzee knows that. And that’s why he knows me so well. Because I’m a fuck-up too.”

“Ooooooookay, we’re done with this. It’s time to get to the fucking point and figure out what to do about this.” Vriska found her voice again and cut through Karkat’s tearful words. “The reason we called you here is because we met a doomed Karkat in the dreambubbles, and when he heard that you had been getting pale with Gamzee, he demanded the chance to speak with you. We’re here to convince you that you should go to sleep and hear him out.”

Karkat sniffed and tried to steady his voice. “No fucking way. You haven’t given me a reason to trust a single word you say.”

“She’s not asking for much,” Rose added. “What’s one nap in the grand scheme of things? If this doomed Karkat can’t persuade you that should cease contact, then you’ll wake and the status quo will remain unchanged. We’ll take responsibility for protecting you while you sleep, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You don’t understand, I shouldn’t have left Gamzee alone for this long in the first place! I have to go back _now_ , to keep him from getting angrier!”

“Okay, that right there, makes me want to go stab Gamzee in the dick. Whatever alien appendage he has that most correlates with the dick, I want to go and stab that,” Dave looked around the circle for something approximating permission, or at least consensus that it was a good idea to go clown hunting. Kanaya wanted to lend him the strength of her chainsaw too.

“No one is getting stabbed in the anything! I’m going to fix this if you just _let me_!”

“What do you think we’re trying to do, numbskull?” Terezi said. “Trust us for ten freaking minutes, please!”

“And I said _no_! Everyone needs to get out of my way and—and just never talk to me again!”

Before anyone could react to that statement, Karkat’s eyelids dropped closed and he started to sway. Kanaya caught him before he could fall, and as she did, she saw Dave’s hand, uselessly but supportively, on Karkat’s back. She eased Karkat down to the ground and placed a finger on his neck to check for his pulse. He had one, and he was taking deep and even breaths, as if he hadn’t just been in a shouting match with everyone moments ago.

“He’s asleep,” Kanaya reported.

“Damn right he is,” Vriska said. Kanaya looked up and saw Vriska’s hands lower from their psychic-power pose. “We weren’t getting anywhere, so now it’s time to let another Karkat deal with him. Someone help get him up on the couch. We’re going to decide on our clown hunting teams now.”

Kanaya looked at Dave, an eyebrow raised to see if he was really in for this like he seemed to be. He just nodded and reached down to add some support to Karkat’s head while Kanaya lifted behind his shoulders and knees. Karkat had heft to him, but something about being a rainbow drinker made carrying huge motionless lumps like her friend and leader easier. Spreading him out on the couch (head on Dave’s lap) Kanaya wondered if she could say something to him, like ‘good luck in your dream’ or ‘I promise we care about you’ or ‘please let me help.’ But she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure if he could hear her in his dreams. Probably not.


	48. While You Were Out

Silence fell in the common room after Vriska gave her commands and Dave helped Kanaya get Karkat up on the couch. He moved himself to let his leg serve as Karkat’s pillow, practically on impulse, but once he and Karkat were posed and Rose had the chance to raise an eyebrow at him, he had about nineteen separate second thoughts. The first thought that made him do it had been that Karkat had been hurt and Dave wanted to stay so close nothing would hurt him again. Remembering that kept him from changing his mind, but awkwardness and confusion and shame still came running at it hot and fast.  
  
_This is not a problem._   
  
Sure thing, Brain Porrim, but that advice applied to whether the pungent block of crazy delectable cheese that was his feelings for Karkat belonged in the refrigerator of his soul, spreading its aroma around in all-consuming distraction. That didn’t quite apply to being a fucking creep and slipping himself between an unconscious Karkat and a couch just because he missed the dude. This, what he was doing right here, was a problem.   
  
But everyone seemed to just be letting him do it. Kanaya stayed close to Karkat, fretting over him a bit as she used a small and chemical-smelling cloth to gingerly wipe his face, take off the makeup, and see the full extent of his bruise. It looked a few days old, but it was pretty big. He moved one hand to Karkat’s hair, pulling it back from his face and mumbling something to Kanaya about giving her more space to work. Vriska’s knockout was pretty potent, and under Kanaya’s delicate touch he didn’t even stir. If it weren’t for his even breathing, Dave might confuse Karkat for a corpse.   
  
“What if the doomed Karkat can’t convince him this is bad?” Terezi asked of Vriska, both on the other side of the room.   
  
“If Karkat was just fooling around with him we might have been forced to stand down, but this is serious. Gamzee’s hurt Karkat and for whatever fucking reason, Karkat is staying with him.”   
  
“For all of the time and attention you paid to Tavros while using similarly brutal tactics, I think you are not the best person to make any assessment of the situation,” Kanaya spoke up.   
  
“It’s called _learning_ from the _past_ , fussyfangs! And the person best equipped to tell romance from abuse is the one out of commission due to Gamzee’s shitty manipulation, so we’re just making do with what we have.” She held a hand out toward Terezi and said, “I need to borrow your chalk for a second.”   
  
Terezi obliged, and Rose asked, “What for?”   
  
“We’re going to determine who has first watch with Karkat to make sure he doesn’t run the instant we all go clown hunting. Just until he gets his pan straightened out and realizes people who punch you aren’t moirail material.”   
  
“I already said I’d stay,” Dave said. Plus, standing up to go and fight a troll clown would mean disrupting Karkat, and now he had a new sense of what people were talking about when they said the presence of a sleeping cat could keep anyone from moving for centuries.   
  
“No, we need to draw lots for it.”   
  
“Why? You have a willing and eager volunteer here, I can stay behind and play canasta or Fiduspawn or whatever we have the cards for while the rest of you deadly bitches go to town on Purple Pennywise.”   
  
Vriska continued undaunted, taking some stirring sticks that rested near the shitty machine that somehow materialized shitty coffee and marking one with a red tip. She counted out four others, shuffled them around, and covered their ends with her hand so they all looked identical. “Here we go, time to draw.”   
  
“Are you even listening to me? I said I’ll stay.”   
  
“We’re probably going to need more than one shift, cool kid, and a few other preparations to help Karkat, like setting him up in a new block without air vent access,” Terezi explained. “Maybe you can take one of the later ones!”   
  
Vriska held out her fist for everyone to draw. Kanaya took one, and after a few seconds, Rose took one too. Both were blanks.   
  
“No, wait, hold up again, this is Vriska.” Dave looked to the other girls. “We’re playing a _game of chance_ with _Vriska_. She’s gonna cheat. I think she’s already cheated. She’s picking one of us to stay behind and just pretending there’s any kind of randomness in it.”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Terezi said, taking her own stick. The red tip appeared on the end. “Ooh, nice!” And then she popped it straight in her mouth to suck on.   
  
“Terezi, what the fuck, first of all that’s gross, and second of all, that’s still really gross, and third of all, why are you just suddenly okay with filthy cheating?”   
  
“Mnnhffhfn,” she answered.   
  
“Maybe I can translate for my fellow Seer: it’s not that Vriska didn’t cheat, but that it doesn’t matter,” Rose explained. “Any one of us could stay and it would all have very similar results.”   
  
“But why is Vriska allowed to do whatever she wants and we just have to sit here and be chumps about it?”   
  
“Oh my god, if you do not quit your whining, I am going to knock you out too. Then we’re all going to take turns to doodle embarrassing phrases on your face,” Vriska threatened. “There will be plenty of time for you to mack on Karkat after Terezi’s shift and we know that Gamzee is on lockdown and never to show his painted face again.”   
  
“I’m just saying, Vriska’s being a tyrant again and it sucks. Maybe if we want Karkat to wake up to a world where he’s certain that we give a shit about him we should, maybe, y’know, cut that out.”   
  
Terezi pulled the stick from her mouth. “Dave, please let me take this first watch. There’s a lot I want to say.”   
  
“There’s a lot _I_ want to say, why do you trump me because you’ve got Vriska in your corner?”   
  
“I don’t mean to exclude you, but a lot of the shit Karkat blames himself for are things that happened during our game session, and you weren’t there. I want to try and talk all of that over with him and get to the bottom of this.” Terezi turned her face to Dave, and gave him just a tiny grin. For some reason, Dave felt like he trusted that little smile more than he would a big one. “I promise, if you want to be Karkat’s recovery buddy, give it your all. I just… want to be the one who watches him first.”   
  
Dave glanced down at the Karkat in his lap, a few memories jumbling together in his head: heckling Karkat over his transparent jealousy of Dave and Terezi growing closer, seeing Karkat blaze as he walked in the footsteps of his most distant ancestor, feeling so small and weak in the face of someone strong who knew best and said so using a katana. _Wait, what…?_   
  
“Fine,” Dave finally relented, if only to give himself space to think.   
  
“Wonderful!” Terezi crowed, and celebrated by taking her chalk, coloring the flat stick with another layer of red, and popping it back in her mouth.   
  
“So now we wait for Karkat to wake up?” Kanaya asked.   
  
“That’s the plan.” Vriska stretched her arms over her head. “I have a bit of cleanup to do, and I need to find something we can use to contain Gamzee until we’re in the new session. Plus we should get the timeboxes back from him before all this is over.”   
  
Kanaya nodded, then added, “I think I want to ensure my chainsaws are prepared for our approaching hunt.”   
  
“Nice! That’s the kind of pro-active decision I like to see. Ten points to Kanaya.”   
  
“We’re back on the point system?” Rose asked.   
  
“Not for you, since you hate it so much.”   
  
“But how shall I ever recover from this exclusion from my peers? I feel relentlessly bullied right now.”   
  
“Suck it up. Rose, Kanaya, Dave, you’re on battle strategy with me. Come on.”   
  
“Uh…” Dave still didn’t want to move, since he had already lost out on the chance to stick with Karkat rather than hunt clowns.   
  
Thankfully, Terezi came to his aid. “Dave should probably stick around until Karkat wakes up. He’ll be a good sport and jump in on any plan you want once he’s free to go.”   
  
Vriska looked at Terezi for another moment, and then shrugged. “Fine, the dorky boy can join us later.”   
  
“Actually, can I spend another fifteen minutes here?” Rose said. “I’d like to speak with Dave. Alone.”   
  
“Then I’ll represent Miss Cantaloupe until she shows up!” Terezi volunteered, skipping to Vriska’s side and pulling her to the transportalizer before Vriska could voice any kind of protest. A few chirps of sound and flashes of light later, Rose and Dave found themselves alone, save for the sleeping Karkat still in his lap.   
  
“How the hell is Terezi so good at making Vriska listen to her?” Dave asked.   
  
“Vriska knows what Terezi is thinking, so when Terezi proposes something, Vriska quickly understands her reasoning. From what I’ve observed, the phenomena operates in reverse as well.” Rose said. “If Vriska is our unceremonious tyrant, then Terezi is the power behind the throne shaping edicts in order to advance her own agenda.”   
  
“Do you know Terezi’s agenda?”   
  
“Not completely, but I sense it’s fairly benign, relatively speaking. This is still Terezi Pyrope we’re talking about.”   
  
“I guess.”   
  
Rose pulled a chair close to Dave’s couch, keeping them close to each other. She folded one leg over the other and rested her hands on her knee.   
  
“…Okay, I’ll bite, what is it?”   
  
“I just want to check up on you. Karkat is your best friend on this rock and he said some pretty scathing things to you during the intervention.”   
  
“I mean, those are basically Gamzee’s ideas right now, aren’t they? He said some shit like I only want Karkat around to be more of a hero myself, so everything I say is getting remixed in his own head so he doesn’t hear what I really mean. He didn’t mean that.”   
  
“Does it bother you to hear it?”   
  
“Is this therapy time again? Cracking open a new journal for the basketcase Dave Strider? I already know I’m neurotic depressive megalomanical syndrome.”   
  
“Leave the psychobabble to me," Rose said. "Your diagnosis probably needs an update anyway. I just want to make sure I haven’t lost my touch. And I also don’t really have an avenue with which to express concern for your well-being that doesn’t involve a pretentious psychotherapist act.”   
  
“…You’re worried about me?”   
  
“You’re overdue for a check-up.”   
  
“Uh-huh,” Dave said. He looked at Rose and for a moment, remembered dreaming on the moon of Derse, her wide awake and piloting it as a carapacian with a spear stood menacingly in her way. It caught him a bit off-guard to realize Rose looked older than she did back then. And even having been free from booze for some time now, the clarity in her lavender eyes felt like something he should treasure.   
  
“Your insistence that you be the one to accompany Karkat is pretty touching,” Rose said. “Maybe I can use that as an ice-breaker?”   
  
“I mean, I don’t know how to put it into words, but sure.”   
  
“You can’t articulate why he matters to you more than the rest of us?”   
  
“There’s just a lot that doesn’t make sense and I’m trying to put it together in my head.”   
  
“Is this related to the way that even Karkat, the master of the quadrants, could be snowed into accepting an abusive moirail?”   
  
“That… But also, the last time I saw Karkat, he wasn’t like this.”   
  
“When was that?”   
  
“A few days ago. We were in the same dream, about Houston. Just one of the streets near my apartment, We razzed on a toy store and then hung out together. He was acting really different. He told me he was sorting things out and didn’t want to talk about why he was gone. And his eye was fine.”   
  
“Maybe it was bruised after that dream?”   
  
“I guess it had to be. But one clock to the face shouldn’t… undo everything.”   
  
“I suppose this is a circumstance we haven’t encountered yet, but with the properties of time in the Furthest Ring, there’s a possibility that you were speaking with a future incarnation of our own Karkat, from after the intervention, where his health and confidence has improved. In order to preserve the stability of the loops, he requested you keep discussions regarding the meteor to a minimum.”   
  
“Maybe,” Dave said, but that sounded like a hellishly complicated answer to a mystery that should be simpler than that. Things like Glowing Poofy John had complicated origins. Oddly Nice Karkat shouldn’t be a massive puzzle.   
  
“I can change the subject a bit if you like.”   
  
“Don’t care, so go ahead.”   
  
“What would you have done if you had drawn the red stick and been the one to stay with Karkat?”   
  
“Just hung out with him.”   
  
“Are you sure that’s what he needs right now?”   
  
“It’s what I can do for him, and I don’t think friendship ever killed anyone.”   
  
“I do think Terezi’s reasoning was right regarding her merits as the one to stay, but do you think you and Karkat might have something in common regarding…” Rose trailed off and waved one of her hands in the air.   
  
“Regarding what?”   
  
“Well, to put this delicately, unorthodox treatment from loved ones?”   
  
If Dave hadn't had a lapful of dreaming alien, he’d have been on his feet to the transportalizer. “That’s got nothing to do with this.”   
  
“You don’t think there’s any common ground between the two of you as individuals who have been harmed by people who were supposed to protect you?”   
  
“My bro trained me.”   
  
Rose leveled her eyes with Dave, and chills ran down his spine as he felt her See through his shades. “To become what?”   
  
He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. “Strong. Uh, good with… with swords. Agile.”   
  
“What a well-reasoned and convincing answer.”   
  
“Well, you had a lab full of mysteries next to your house. Jade’s grandpa had tech pouring out of his taxidermied ears, and I think John’s Nannasprite knew she’d be dead before the game began. Maybe my bro was trying to train me to become the Knight of Time.”   
  
“Do you think he succeeded?”   
  
“I’m a God Tier, so…”   
  
“That wasn’t the question. Did you bro’s training make you feel more or less prepared for the game?”   
  
Glassy-eyed puppets that gave him nightmares. Unsettling comics slipped into his backpack that he had to crumple up before teachers saw. Booby-trapped snacks, if there were snacks at all. Swords in the fridge, fireworks in the sink, strife notes on the door that made his stomach sink and his hands shake, stitches he had to bandage and hide, bumps from when his bro tossed him down the stairs, and the way Dave knew exactly how old the bruise around Karkat’s eye was because he had seen bruises bloom and fade on his own body.   
  
He couldn’t make his voice say anything. Dave just lowered his head, looking at Karkat’s still sleeping face, and shook it ‘no.’   
  
“I see. Sorry to press you about that, but I think you’ll be in a better place to help Karkat if you recognize that shared experience for what it is.”   
  
“Okay then, riddle me this Rose, is it going to help Karkat if he wakes up and sees me with my shit wrecked from trying to re-live thirteen years of a rap ninja raising a human child? Because good intentions or not, unless you think crying on Karkat’s face is going to help him, this conversation needs to be over.”   
  
Rose drew back a little, sitting up straighter and looking at Dave with some kind of weird expression, like apology. Was she sorry to hear Dave grew up like that or sorry that she had touched a wound deeper or fresher than she expected?   
  
“I appreciate the check-up, I swear, but it’s not helping. Just… go to the hunting meeting. Make sure Vriska only asks me to do things you know I can do.”   
  
“…Okay. Fine then.” She stood up and walked toward the transportalizer, but paused. “In case it wasn’t clear, I do want to help you. If there’s one thing I learned from my ‘imbibement indiscretions,’ it’s that we’re not going to get through this alone.”   
  
“Cool. Thanks.”   
  
Rose disappeared, and already Dave felt shitty for pushing her out. But what was he supposed to do? She was rooting around with bullshit she knew nothing about, and he knew that all her experience with psychoanalysis came from the Wikipedia articles for different disorders and psychoses, especially from that bastard Freud who would have called Dave as gay practically from birth because horses represented dicks or something. Besides, his bro was dead and gone, and Gamzee was alive and kicking. What did they have in common?   
  
_…But the post-Scratch kids are alive._   
  
Although one leg had gone numb under Karkat’s head, the other one wanted to bounce and fidget, maybe even kick something. There was another Bro waiting for him. And he was going to be… well, fuck, Dave had no clue what he was going to be. He didn’t even know if the Small Bro was going to have his shades. Maybe he wouldn’t even have Lil Cal. And maybe… fuck, maybe he wouldn’t even be on their side. Vriska was talking about friends they’d have to fight before this was all over, and what if one of them working for the evil side of the equation was his alternate Bro? And almost worse, what if the alternate Bro was on Dave’s side, and he beat on his friends the way Bro beat Dave?   
  
Reminiscing like this, Dave started to realize he’d never wish his Bro on anyone. And looking down at Karkat’s face and his black eye, sensed what Rose had meant when she said she wanted Dave to find their shared experience.   
  
_But what the fuck am I supposed to do?_   
  
The minutes passed, growing into some kind of approximate hour. Karkat stayed asleep while Dave’s brain ticked and whirred with a sense of brewing doom, thinking of the immediate danger of hunting Gamzee and the distant danger of the Condesce, Jack, brainwashed friends, and possibly evil allies. What the fuck was he supposed to do? About any of it?   
  
“Hhaa—!”   
  
Karkat made a noise and Dave snapped his head to look down. Karkat had his eyes open with more tears gathered at the corners, and he blinked, letting them fall as he tried to get his bearings.   
  
“Karkat, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Dave pulled at every memory he had to try and remember what used to comfort him when he thought Bro might be skulking around his door. “He’s not here, he’s not here—it’s just me, we’re alone. Just me. He’s not here.”   
  
“He…” Karkat repeated back. He pushed himself up into a sitting position—blood flow returning to Dave’s leg and giving him pins and needles—and rubbed his hands on his face. “He did… he did so much… on purpose… because he wanted…”   
  
“So the other Karkat… helped?” Dave asked tentatively. “Do you know what to do now?”   
  
“Yeah, he… he has to be stopped…” Karkat said, still through tears. “No more second chances… No more healing… He’s not our friend. He’s not… _my_ …”   
  
Dave watched Karkat crumple, leaning forward as his shoulders started to shake, and he did what he thought he would have wanted in that situation. He reached one arm down and drew Karkat close to him, wrapping him up in the tightest hug his arms could muster.   
  
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be okay…”

 _What the fuck am I supposed to do?_   
  
He felt Karkat’s tears seep into the sleeve of his godly pajamas, and an answer to his question came to mind. He needed to make it okay. Right here, right now, make things okay. And as Karkat gripped the back of Dave’s shirt, it looked like Dave could at least manage that.


	49. Percussive Maintenance

“So how long until they’re…”

“They’ll come back when it’s over.”

“But they’ve been gone for longer than they should have, right?”

“He’s a slippery guy.”

Karkat tapped his fingers on his leg, glanced at Terezi, and glanced at the transportalizer. “Look, I’ve been thinking, maybe I should just say something to him. I won’t go off on my own, I’ll just let him know that we’re over, and—”

“That’s a no, Karkles. Both of us are staying right here until everyone gets back.”

“Okay, no, I totally get it, I get that we’re all on the same side in thinking that Gamzee doesn’t deserve to be on the righteous team of heroic assholes, but I kind of know what’s up with him, most of the time! If I said something, then he might go quietly.”

Terezi shook her head this time. “Still not gonna budge on that one. You’re staying right here.”

Now she was starting to sound condescending. Karkat frowned at her. “What gives you the right to tell me what to do?”

“Seer of Mind.”

“That’s such complete and utter bullshit, there is no way your ‘powers’ are the reason you think I should stay right here. Were those ever real in the first place, or was it just you running some long con scheme to make all of us dance to your deranged treehouse tune?”

“I can See enough to know that you’re being a pedantic wiggler and I _still_ don’t have to let you go.” Terezi crossed her legs. “And what I want to know right now is, are you having second thoughts about giving us the kiwi green signal to take care of Gamzee?”

“No!” Karkat insisted. “I just… I’ve just been thinking. I saw some shit in the dreams that definitely corrected some of the… misconceptions I had, but it doesn’t give us a right to be indiscriminately violent back to him.”

“What makes you say we’re being indiscriminately violent?”

“Vriska’s involved.”

“Fair—but what makes you think he doesn’t deserve it?”

“He’s one of our teammates! Maybe he’s not a good guy, but you can… just…”

“Just _what_?” Terezi’s voice got a little sharper, and Karkat flinched. She sniffed, realizing that her tone had made Karkat jump, and sighed. “Maybe the realization I want you to come to is, if we bring the sword of justice down on Gamzee’s head with undue wrath, it’s because of how angry we all are seeing what he did to you.”

Karkat reached a hand up to his eye, feeling the edge of the bruise. He had guessed that everyone else would hate seeing the bruise, but he'd assumed they’d misunderstand and overreact. It was just a consequence of his mistakes. No one needed to somersault off the handle over it.

He lowered his hand, remembering pieces of the dream that Vriska had forced him to have. He had been able to meet with the doomed Karkat according to plan, but they had spent the majority of their time together trading petty insults about their failures as a troll and as a leader. The other Karkat had come from a pretty rough timeline, and Karkat had latched onto that and tried to twist the knife so the other would give up and stop criticizing him.

And then the doomed Karkat had started drawing up memories, and Karkat had been forced to admit defeat.

“When did this all start, by the way?” Terezi asked.

“A while ago,” Karkat said.

“I mean, give me a time frame.”

“Time barely exists out here, you know that.”

“We still know that we’re about two years into a three year journey,” Terezi countered. “Whatever a ‘year’ actually is. But that doesn’t matter. Give me a landmark moment.”

God, it had been so long since Karkat had even thought about this. His life had been dark vents and misery for so long that thinking back to before he had reached out to Gamzee almost felt like thinking back to his wigglerhood on Alternia.

“Kanaya and I were doing research for the Beforus shit. We talked with Rufioh, and Damara…” But shit, what was he supposed to tell Terezi about the Chimeric’s journal? That he had it in the first place and didn’t tell anyone? That he had decided Gamzee might be an okay guy based on its contents? “…I did some hard thinking, and… consulted the Mournful again—”

“You found the Mournful a second time?”

“Yeah?” Karkat let out his first breath of relief as Terezi latched onto the more explicable impossible detail. Maybe she’d miss that he was concealing something else, if he was lucky. At least Vriska wasn’t here to steal that luck.

“I know Dave tried to find him again but couldn’t manage it. Vriska and I made a few attempts but it never came to anything.”

“Whoop de doo.”

“Shut up. What I mean is, maybe you’re the only one who can find the dreambubble where his prison is. Dave was only there the first time around because he stumbled ass-backwards into it with you.”

“But why the fuck am _I_ the only one who can access it? Shouldn’t that be the Chimeric, his actual moirail?”

“Hey, the dreambubbles are huge. Maybe the Chimeric is lost. Or maybe the dreambubbles are deliberately drifting around each other wrong due to the unknowable will of the horrorterrors. But we are getting _off topic_.” Terezi reached out and booped a finger on Karkat’s sniffnode, which he failed to squirm away from in time. “What did you and the Mournful discuss?”

Karkat fidgeted with his fingers. “He said that our Gamzee was probably acting like this because he was scared.”

“And you believed him?”

“Who knows shitty clown better than another, older, equally shitty clown?!”

“Okay, but my next question is, why did you take that information and decide that what you needed to do was reach out to Gamzee _alone_ and strike up a moirallegiance with him?”

“No one else would have cared!”

“You don’t know that. So maybe you should back-track a little and tell me what inspired you to think so hard you searched for the Mournful again?” Karkat choked. She smiled and cackled a moment, no doubt smelling his distress. “You better tell me before I charge you with obstruction of justice!”

“...You know what, fuck this.” Karkat scooted further from Terezi and stood up. “I want to go check on the hunt and make sure no one does anything they’re going to regret.”

“You’re the one who will regret going out there. I can’t let you,” Terezi told him.

“This is already an unjust detainment or whatever you call that crime. I’m out of here.”

He turned his back to Terezi, and in an instant, she had her cane across his chest, although she left plenty of space for him to press with his hands and resist it. “Nope, I am on Karkles-sitting duty and it is a responsibility I take _super_ seriously. You’re not going anywhere until the rest of the team gets back.”

“Fuck—this—!” Karkat pushed on the cane to give himself enough room to duck under it and escape. Successful, he stepped forward, but his sweater caught on something and rubber-banded him back. “Shit—!”

“Nuh-uh, you are staying _here_!” Terezi snapped. Karkat whipped his hands back to try and loosen Terezi’s grip, but she let go herself and flung forward to tackle Karkat from behind. He grunted and fell, and wriggled forward, but Terezi gripped, and Karkat kicked, and what the hell, what the fuck—

“Let me fucking _go_!”

“Not after being such an evasive shit for so long!”

“Get the hell off of me!”

“No, stop wriggling!”

Karkat dragged himself on his forearms, trying to pull Terezi’s extra weight wrapped around his waist. She made herself go limp or something because her body felt about three times heavier than it should. “Hhhghhgg—ghghghhtth—”

“What the fuck, I have you pinned! Just stay still!” Terezi called from his back.

“Nnnno—you—don’t!” Karkat grunted, still clawing his way toward the transportalizer.

“ _Jegus_ , Karkat!”

Terezi lifted her body off of him, giving Karkat more freedom to scramble for his exit, but he realized Terezi would probably do something really big to make him stop now. He rolled over onto his back to see what he could do to get her first. Terezi had her body drawn back for some kind of body slam, nostrils flared as she took a big sniff of her prey, but that gave Karkat his opening.

Terezi pounced, and Karkat jabbed, two of his fingers shoving straight up Terezi’s nose, and she shrieked in pain and disgust as her snot squelched around his digits. She immediately pulled back to cover her treasured scent protrusion. Karkat retched and tried to wipe his sticky fingers on the linoleum floor, then Terezi’s own shirt, before making another break for the transportalizer. She shot one hand out and latched it around Karkat’s ankle, tripping him back down onto the floor, barely a foot closer than he had been before.

Now in the thick of it, Karkat and Terezi rolled and slapped and pulled and kicked their way around the floor. He had some semblance of instinct to carry him through, how to tug hair and bite arms and generally hold his own, but even in the midst of the brawl, Karkat realized something. When was the last time he had gotten in a fight like this? It had to have been sweeps ago, and it had to have been with Terezi.

Even with the humiliation of her nasal violations, Terezi caught Karkat’s wrists, pulled them so Karkat was on his stomach, got onto his back, and _sat_. As far as Karkat’s body cared, she pile-drove her ass into his back and knocked out his wind and nearly his last meal. His limbs sprawled and he struggled to catch his breath as Terezi did the same, though she had the victory pose.

“Ewwww… Ewww, Karkles, ewwww…” She sniffed a few more times and gagged. “Oh my god, everything smells like your stinky fingers now, _gross_!”

“You think I was having a beautiful fucking holiday with your mucus all over my hand?!” Karkat wheezed.

“You’re the one who _did it_ , so you tell me!”

“You weren’t letting me go!”

“I can’t let you go! You’re Gamzee’s abuse victim, you go back there and he’ll try and make you take his side again!”

Karkat had a volcano of furious rhetoric to unleash on Terezi, but those two words made him freeze. _Abuse victim_. In the hours since Karkat had woken up, he hadn’t yet thought that phrase. Abuse victim. The person who got abused. _Why did I let that happen? I was so stupid… I_ am _so stupid…_

“You willing to sit still?” Terezi asked him. When he didn’t answer, she clicked her tongue and shifted her body to sit cross-legged on Karkat’s back. Fuck. “We’re going to stay here until you tell me why you think someone capable of punching his moirail in the face deserves any mercy.”

Old rationalizations moved faster than he expected. “It’s not like that.”

“What, not like one romantic partner beating the other?”

That was what it had been, wasn’t it? God, if only Terezi had been there to tell him this the first time Gamzee choked him. And Karkat hadn’t asked for her help because he was so sure Terezi hated him, and Gamzee was the one who had said that, and… “If we kick the shit out of him for hurting me, aren’t we just as bad?”

“Justice says no on that one. The intimate relationship of quadrantmates is very different than a team environment. We are justified to kick him until he is so out of shits that he never shits again.”

“Gross…” Karkat managed to say, but he folded his arms under his chin and let his head lie down. If Terezi wasn’t going to budge, he might as well get comfortable.

“Karkat?” Terezi asked, quieter now.

“What.”

“Why do you think we hate you?”

“Because I’m the most incompetent slime louse to ever impersonate a sentient creature.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying. We don’t hate you.”

“But I’ve failed! At everything that ever mattered!” Karkat could feel more tears in his eyes, and he took a small comfort in the way Terezi couldn’t see his face. Maybe she’d smell that he was crying, but she’d never get close enough to sniff what he looked like when he wept. “Failed as a leader, failed as a friend, failed as a protector, or an ectobiologist, or whatever the fuck a Knight of Blood is, and I failed Nepeta and Equius and Tavros and Feferi, and I failed Sollux too, and all the Aradiabots created from doomed timelines where I fucked up even _worse_ than I did now—”

“Karkat, take this in the most caring and friendly spirit possible, but _shut up_!”

His words stopped, but his tears didn’t.

“Here’s what I don’t get. I know that this kind of problem doesn’t get solved in a single dream, but when you woke up, you were ready to tell us to get rid of Gamzee. You knew he wasn’t on our side. Whatever it is you saw in the dreambubbles shocked you, but didn’t change you.”

Karkat tilted his face down to muffle his words. “Shut up.”

“What was that dream about, Karkles? What did doomed you have to say?”

“I said shut up!”

He felt a stick strike the top of his head, with little strength but plenty of sturdy weight. “Come onnn, tell me! What shred of evidence did he have that could make you come to your senses for a half a minute?”

No. No, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to let this out, to dig up old feelings that he had laid to rest, that hadn’t reared their heads since the end of the game, maybe everything else had fallen to shit but at least he wasn’t suffering from _that_ —

The strikes on his head continued. “I’m not going to stop until you tell me!” Terezi crowed, drubbing him slightly harder, and slightly harder, until Karkat could feel the force reverberate up his horns.

Rage and regret and still-falling tears forced his head up and his mouth open. “ _He showed me you, okay?!_ ”

Terezi’s cane stopped, and she seemed to freeze on top of Karkat as more words spilled out of him.

“He showed me his timeline. Vriska was dead, and you were skulking around with Gamzee… he said you two were pitch… and I found you lying in a puddle of Faygo and honk horns and it was so _weak_ and _wrong_ and then you woke up and you talked to me about… about punishing yourself… and how he got under your skin...” Karkat squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to see it all over again and failing. “And you cried… and you said all this shit about… not being useful… and it sounded like all the things my own brain keeps telling me all the fucking time! And I knew the only reason you were saying that was because of what _Gamzee_ did!”

Through all that, Terezi stayed still. She didn’t interrupt him. Karkat sniffed and tried to find some breath.

“And then… the other Karkat asked me… if I would tolerate Gamzee treating you like that. And I told him, fuck no. And then he asked… if I won’t let him treat you like that, how can I let him treat _me_ like that?” He lifted an arm to wipe his face. “And then I woke up.”

“...I’m so sorry,” Terezi said at last.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve had time to think about it some more.” Karkat took another breath. “I think I know why I would want to lop all of Gamzee’s limbs off for hurting you but lie back and take it if he hurt me. I’m just not as good as you, across the board. You matter, and you’re amazing. So if Gamzee has to hurt someone, it should be me. End of story.”

“Okay, you were on a good path there, but I need to tell you to shut your trap again,” Terezi said. “That’s the biggest load of hornbeastshit I’ve heard since we got on the meteor. Just… can you throw away the idea that Gamzee _has_ to hurt anyone? He sucks and he’s probably one of the bad guys, or at least working with the bad guys. No one would deserve what he did, no matter how cool _or_ how awful they were. Can you… I don’t know, compromise with me on that one?”

Karkat let his head drop onto his arms again.

“Not compromising?”

Silence.

“This is the strongest self-loathing I have ever smelled in my life. Gog... I feel like we shouldn’t have been taking it as a joke this whole time. It was hilarious to see past and future Karkats bickering at each other, but you really… _truly_ think you’re _that_ terrible... don’t you?”

“Why is this surprising to you?” Karkat asked, voice muffled through his sweater and limbs.

“Because you were our leader, Karkat. We wouldn’t have won without you.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true! Ask Kanaya if you don’t believe me!”

“Kanaya lost the Matriorb because of me.”

“Because of Eridan. Let’s not forget that he’s the worst, too.”

“Fine then, riddle me this. John had a magic set of instructions he needed to use to fix the timeline or something, and _not a single one_ of those instructions involved correcting any of the catastrophic mistakes that I made. He didn’t even try to stop me from making our cancerous universe, probably the single biggest mistake that started all of this pain and misery and caused half our friends to die and forced the humans to flee their session.”

“What’s the riddle part?”

He almost felt offended that Terezi was still asking. “Why the fuck didn’t John fix me?”

Terezi shifted her position, scooting further down Karkat’s back and pressing one of her feet onto his shoulders, which forced it closer to the ground. _What the fuck now_?

“I want you to really listen to this, Karkat,” Terezi said. “John was following instructions from a doomed Terezi. And I don’t know why she chose to make him do exactly what he did, or how those specific decisions averted catastrophe, but that Terezi is the reason John didn’t try and fix your mistakes. That Terezi believed you hadn’t done anything wrong. And you know what?” She pressed her leg down harder, in case Karkat’s attention had somehow wavered. “I agree with her. She made the right call, leaving your choices alone. Because as bad as things are, you are the reason they aren’t worse.”

Karkat could feel the reflex in his head, screaming at him, _she’s lying. She’s a lying liar who lies. She’s playing the long con and wants to see you fail_. But for once, he could see exactly how stupid and illogical that was. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Terezi had said it while sitting on his back instead of straight to his face.

The transportalizer beeped and whooshed, and Kanaya entered the room, shortly followed by Rose. The girls looked at Karkat and Terezi on the floor with some unique mixtures of confusion and disbelief.

“Hey!” Terezi said brightly, like nothing was wrong. “All done out there?”

“He has been incapacitated and restrained. Vriska believes this will hold for the remainder of our journey,” Kanaya reported.

“The next step is to move Karkat into a new room,” Rose added. “We’ve identified one with vents too small for any sort of full-size figure to navigate, just in case.”

Karkat furrowed his brow at her. “I have to move?”

“It’s a precaution.”

Another odd feeling reared its head. Karkat’s friends never used to treat him like he was sick, or a danger to himself. As much as everyone wanted to prove they _liked_ him, no one seemed to trust him.

“Can you let me up, Terezi?” Karkat requested, and she rolled aside. Karkat got to his feet. He had bruises and bite marks from Terezi’s attack, but he had to admit, they felt different than when Gamzee had hurt him.

_Like an abuse victim._

“Just… take me to my room,” Karkat said. “Anything from the old one I need, I’ll just alchemize new.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I think I want some time alone now.”

Rose nodded empathetically. “We’ll be here when you want to talk.”

Karkat gave her a smile he didn’t really feel. Maybe he’d feel up to talking to them later.

Maybe he wouldn’t.


	50. Fast Forward

_ Terezi had never quite been on this side of the political equation before. Her role had always been to take what already existed as law and debate it, calling on when it should be enforced and when the situation was not a crime and called for a different direction instead. Writing law—or, more accurately, making others write them—proved new. She could ‘see’ well enough, with the bright scents of noble couture and vivid art making every wall leap in front of her like the most beautiful stop signs. Hiding blindness from her cooler superiors would be easy, especially with a strong ‘game-player’ on Terezi’s side. Convincing them to change their positions, however, would be enough work for a dozen trolls, and the Compasse had selected two. _

_ To see them through the Amphibiortress, the Compasse crafted them some middling civil service ‘advisor’ roles and encouraged all the royal, loyal lawmakers to consult them for assistance on how to defeat the Chimeric’s rebellion. Terezi tried to set meetings but found herself frequently laughed at as the elites—somewhat correctly—scoffed at anyone proclaiming themselves to be an expert in imperial resistance, for such a thing had not really existed before the Chimeric became trollkind’s first, furious phoenix. _

_ Prospera’s old habits cracked the obstinate old trolls. Even without the title of Marquise, without her allies and resources, Prospera could place a hand on a troll’s shoulder, lean close to their ear to whisper, and lean back with an icy smile. Within a minute, the troll would bend and set the meeting, or let them through, or hear their proposal. _

_ “You can’t seriously want me to introduce that policy.” A Governor pushed Terezi’s proposed draft back across the table. “The Compasse would have my gills for garters if I did!” _

_ “It sounds like you’re confusing her for some kind of tyrant,” Prospera purred. “The Compasse is more receptive to these ideas than you would think. Think of this way—it would steal the wind right out of the Chimeric’s sails if we allowed warmbloods greater responsibility for their own protection. What grounds would he have to argue that warmbloods are oppressed if we could point to these rights?” _

_ “But when is it going to stop? Once we introduce this precedent, it won’t. It would be like trying to kill a shark by poisoning the whole sea.” _

_ “Warmbloods are still  _ extremely  _ short-sighted,” Prospera continued. “The Chimeric is running on lofty idealism, fantasies and empty promises! Your common burgundy is not going to understand the difference between civilian armament and expertly supervised self-defense when it comes to a policy debate. But they  _ will  _ see that the Chimeric has a body count.” _

_ “Over six hundred,” Terezi chimed in. Prospera’s hyperbole made her stomach turn, but they weren’t here to perfect the world, they were here to save it. She’d allow fear-mongering and chime in with the facts. _

_ “Thank you, Lawscale.” Prospera turned to the seadweller and in her sweetest, most cloying voice said, “This can only stop when you act, esteemed Governor. You have the power to end this. Be the one who leads the charge that ends the Chimeric once and for all.” _

_ Terezi would call the display pragmatically manipulative, but it didn’t yet yield results. The Governor kept the proposal but didn’t act on it, showing them out of the office. _

_ Out in the hallway, Prospera flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Try again?” she said. _

_ “What else  _ can _ we do?” Terezi mused. _

_ Terezi wasn’t sleeping much anymore. She spent her nights with Prospera, meeting the blues and violets who managed the Empire and trying to convince them that compromising their beliefs was the only way to stop the violence tearing their planet apart. The days she spent with radio and maps, tracking the movements that made it to the media. Shortly after beginning her personal investigation, her suspicions were confirmed when two simultaneous strikes occurred against factories hundreds of miles away. The Chimeric had split his forces, at least in half. And the cancer would only grow. She barely slept, putting marks on maps to try and follow how fast the ruddies were growing and in which directions. Ostensibly, these strikes would help her appeal to the Governors she needed to persuade, but they mostly just made her sad.  _

_ Weeks stretched toward perigees with almost no progress in the Amphibiortress and a near flood of violence outside of it. The Chimeric had twelve confirmed sects now, and their distribution throughout the globe was starting to look pretty absolute. Infrastructure and industry continued to fall, and Prospera and Terezi continued to talk. _

_ “Quaestor—may I call you Quaestor?—Esteemed Quaestor, I don’t mean to be a bother, and I do consider us friends by this point, but you haven’t made a single revision to our proposal! I’m beginning to wonder what you’ve been  _ up _ to since we last spoke!” Prospera toed the fine line between genuinely shocked and subtly threatening. “We know that this is the way to erode the Chimeric’s high ground!” _

_ “This is an unacceptable way to do it,” the Quaestor told her, even as his pulled-back fins let his fear of Prospera’s tone waft into Terezi’s space. “The consequences will be too great, too permanent. If we wait for the Chimeric to expire, surely his movement will pass on with him.” _

_ “That won’t happen,” Terezi chimed in. “The Chimeric has already split his forces, identifying sub-leaders that could fill the power vacuum in the event of his death or capture. We can’t wait this out.” _

_ “But there’s no way we can allow these reforms! It’s already obvious that giving an inch to the warmbloods gives them delusions of grandeur that cause incidents like this in the first place.” He rapped his knuckles on his desk. “No one’s saying this, but we all know that if the the Compasse had just stayed firm and showed her treasure his  _ place _ , none of this would have happened.” _

_ Terezi’s fists clenched under the table, but her anger finally sparked the fires she needed in her mind. “What if we hold the reforms hostage?” _

_ “I beg your pardon?” the Quaestor asked, and Terezi could smell Prospera’s confusion. _

_ “Draft an expanded bill of rights for warmbloods, increasing eligibility for OJAs in positions of power and removing restrictions on BUOY employment and education. Then only  _ implement _ those reforms on the condition that the Chimeric surrender and end the rebellion.” _

_ “Of course,” Prospera picked up the slack. “Create a situation where the Chimeric and his violent rebellion is what stands in the way of the progress he swears he wants! It’s a compromise that he can’t refuse, unless he wants everyone to see that this little resistance is about his ego and madness and not true idealism.” _

_ Terezi heard the stroke of fingers on a chin. “I… might be able to propose that,” he said at last. “That won’t upset the order as much as armament, and in the meantime we can entrust more protective weaponry to the CIPs in their local communities.” _

_ “That’s the spirit,” Prospera said. “Shall we start drafting?” _

_ Terezi’s hands still shook beneath the table, but one of Prospera’s moved to cover it. After a moment, Terezi managed to loosen her fist and meet Prospera’s touch. It felt easier to accept she had done the right thing to make progress with Prospera here. _

 

* * *

_ Traveling with ruddies got harder. Tavros knew it gave the Lodestar joy to be a guide to the rejected, neglected, and forgotten, but her charitable assistance started to pose a risk to her health. _

_ Things had stayed calm for a for a sweep or so after their side job started. Hitting up small towns for discontents and bringing them to larger population centers was a pretty good system overall. They met some pretty fascinating people that way, full of stories and ideas and wants and fears. Pretty much all of the travelers departed as good friends, and even people with some little idiosyncrasies that made them unbearably annoying were at least gone soon. Plus, it felt good to have a purpose overall. _

_ Then, they found a town that the ruddies had gotten to first. They didn't realize anything was wrong until they had already entered, and found that everyone was barricaded in their homes and the only trolls out and about carried knives, swords, and clubs. The Lodestar held onto his hand, but when he urged Oberion to turn around, she stayed put. _

_ “Starshine…” Tavros cautioned. _

_ “Shh,” she said, rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand. “They aren’t our enemy, remember?” _

_ Within moments, the ruddies turned their attention to the horseman and his matesprit, leveling weapons at them as they approached. The Lodestar put her hands up and Tavros followed suit. _

_ “Identify yourselves!” a yellowblood with ball horns barked. _

_ “I am the Lodestar. This is my matesprit, the Huntsman. We’re drifters around this continent.” _

_ The weapons lowered slightly. “Recruits?” the yellowblood asked. _

_ “No, just travelers. If we find anyone who needs to go someplace else, we assist them, but we aren’t going anywhere ourselves.” _

_ “What do you want?” _

_ “Some rest, a few supplies, the chance to wash ourselves and our belongings.” _

_ “Oberion could use a new shoe,” Tavros added. _

_ “Right! Things like that.” _

_ The ruddies looked between each other, trying to come to a decision. “That… sounds fine,” the yellowblood answered. “But you’ll be gone by next sundown, understood?!” _

_ “Yeah, sure, sure!” Tavros agreed, and the Lodestar nodded as well. _

_ They stayed under armed guard the entire day, supervised with suspicion. Tavros found out where to get a hoofbeast re-shoed and managed the task with the Lodestar’s help. Then they took up a block for themselves, washing hair and clothes and anything else that could get wiped down. That was the only time they managed to argue for visual privacy.  _

_ When the Lodestar was done with her ablution, Tavros took a turn, though he needed assistance, and had to use the trap instead of just the sprayer. He looked at his legs under the water, limp and weak and useless and… somehow still changing. When he pushed his thighs together, his knees didn’t follow the straight line, instead bending outward and leaving a wide gap between his hips and his ankles. Spending so much time with his legs bound to Oberion’s body had literally forced his bones to warp. Maybe Tavros could convince the Lodestar to take a vacation, someplace where he didn’t need to stay in the saddle. For some reason, the continued deformity made him feel the injury that crippled him all over again. _

I miss flying with you, Starshine.

_ They slept the day undisturbed, but when night came, armed ruddies blocked their path out. Lodestar bristled and tried to argue all the good the pair had done for the ruddy resistance, but this battalion did not include any trolls the Lodestar and Tavros had directly assisted. As the Lodestar prepared to use her psionics and Tavros cast his mind around for creatures able to help, another troll approached, heavy-set and brownblooded with long and wild hair. _

_ “And who are you, wanting to leave?” he asked. _

_ The Lodestar turned on him, her patience already pushed too far. “Travelers who want nothing to do with you!” _

_ The man scowled, so Tavros urged Oberion to move him between his matesprit and the newcomer. “We are the Huntsman and the Lodestar. We’re drifters, and we take no side, and we just want to go, and keep traveling.” _

_ “And how do I know you’re not spies? Search them!” the man barked. _

_ “On what authority?!” The Lodestar pulled her pack of supplies closer. The rest was strapped to Oberion, who skittishly tapped his back hooves. _

_ “I am the Rampager, commander of Tribe Eleven, so on my authority, you won’t leave until you can prove you’re not spies!” _

_ Maybe it wasn’t the time to ask this at all, but the question left his mouth before Tavros could stop it. “Out of how many tribes?” _

_ “Out of one—only my Tribe matters because we’ll decide your fate! Now let us search you or we’ll have no choice but to kill you!” _

_ Tavros said one word, “Fly,” to the Lodestar, and she knew. Leaping off the ground, she caught her body with her psionics and catapulted herself into the air, far from the blades and munitions of the rebels. Tavros didn’t have a speedy escape like that, but he had a hoofbeast beneath his body, and through communion with the beast, he encouraged Oberion to lift his hooves and scream a neigh. As Oberion menaced the rebels, Tavros took this chance to pull Trueshot’s stolen crossbow off his back and point it at anyone who tried to sneak up on his side, firing one warning shot past the head of an approaching rebel. Maybe the blue fletching on the lost bolt would validate the Rampager’s paranoia, but Tavros didn’t care. He needed escape more than a sterling reputation. _

_ “Stop them!” the Rampager shouted, and Tavros saw his opening. His mind commanded,  _ Now! _ and Oberion charged between a narrow opening, down the street, and toward the edge of town. For all their notorious brutality, the ruddies were not fast, and Oberion outpaced them quickly. _

Last grief?!

_ Tavros heard those words in his head and blinked a bit. Animals never thought in words. Only well-trained beasts who had lived among trolls for most of their lives recognized language. Tavros pushed a reassuring curiosity across his link to Oberion to ask what he meant. _

Danger run home last grief!?

_ Of course, ‘last grief’ was the code phrase that Trueshot had used to train Oberion, a ‘return home’ command that would function anywhere on the continent. If Tavros and the Lodestar ever got in trouble too great to bear, Oberion would help them run home. Tavros stowed his crossbow and petted Oberion’s neck as they ran, reassuring the beast that it wasn’t time to run home, and they’d be safe so long as he ran just a little longer. _

_ When the cleared a hill, the Lodestar fell out of the sky and nearly tackled Tavros off his mount with the force of her hug. “Are you hurt?!” _

_ He held her back. “I’m fine, we made it… we made it.” _

_ “They’re radicalizing. The Rampager is no Chimeric. The ruddies are going to try and stop us, just like the Empire! Like the cullers!” _

_ Tavros whispered soothing nothings to the Lodestar, mind spinning with the fact that they might be dragged into this fight whether they wanted to or not. How would they escape? How would they keep each other safe? _

_ He took deep breaths to steady himself. The last thing his matesprit and mount needed were to feel his fear. They had the Lodestar’s psionics. They had his communion powers. They had a messaging device to call the Benevole and a hoofbeast able to find Trueshot’s hive from anywhere on the continent. _

_ And they had a sturdy crossbow, and a quiver, with one fewer bolt. _

 

* * *

 

_ Kanaya tugged the curtain of a medical bay closed, giving herself and its two occupants some privacy. “And how large of a sample do you require?” _

_ “I don’t want to ask for any more of Trueshot’s time, so the maximum sample it’s safe to give,” Twinhorn told her.  _

_ Trueshot sat back in the mediculler’s recliner, his muscle-bound form heavy enough to make some of the smaller struts in the chair’s frame creak in protest. For his part, Trueshot at least looked apologetic about the threat his body posed to the feeble furniture. Kanaya had come to regard it as ‘hers’ and she wanted it to remain undamaged. _

_ Volunteering at the hospital improved Kanaya’s life greatly. Two sweeps had passed since the Chimeric’s brutal fall from grace and the beginning of his open revolt, with a death toll that had crossed two thousand lives lost. She always tried to stay on top of the news, and every time she heard about strikes of ruddies against infrastructure, against trade routes, against farms and factories, against schools, against orphanages, it made Kanaya all the more determined to pull on her sanitary gloves and work that much harder at trying to heal the world back to a place where she felt certain some warmth existed in it. And as hard as that job was, Kanaya had colleagues at the hospital to help her, people other than Trueshot to discuss the news and her worries with. She didn’t quite feel like calling them friends; they didn’t know she was the former matesprit of a dangerous criminal or that this post was technically part of something akin to a witness protection assignment, but she liked seeing their faces. She liked that they greeted her when she came for shifts and she liked sharing over-burned coffee from the break room with them. _

_ As far as lives in hiding went, this one was pretty nice. _

_ That particular day, Delegate Twinhorn had been in contact with Trueshot about a set of security measures he wanted to implement at the API, as a way of ensuring no attacking rebels ever found their way into those golden hivestems. They were going to set up blood test scanners around their delicate computing centers and a few very securely packed weapons. Only a few trolls would even have access, and as the backup culler to the entire API, Trueshot needed to have his blood signature in the system as well. _

_ “Maximum sample for a blueblood will likely be more than you are expecting,” Kanaya cautioned Twinhorn. “Are you prepared to transport a large quantity of blood back to the API?” _

_ “If there’s more than I thought, I can just borrow hospital stuff to bring it back. Maximum sample can’t be more than what, two liters?” _

_ “I have calculated that based on my size and lifestyle, I can safely donate slightly more than four liters of blood,” Trueshot chimed in. _

_ “Holy  _ shit— _ ” Twinhorn’s cheeks yellowed as he remembered his station and the stations of present company. _ “ _ Sorry, I’m sorry, just… wow. If you have that much blood to spare, how much is in you to begin with?” _

_ Kanaya cracked a smile and opened her mouth to tell a story of the most difficult surgery she had ever performed—a testament to the vast reserves of hemoglobin in coolblooded bodies—but closed her mouth before saying a word. That surgery had been on the Mournful, when the newly titled and disgraced Chimeric had dragged him to Kanaya’s clinic door and begged for help. Her most impressive accomplishment as a healer was also a treasonous crime, and possibly made her responsible for all of the carnage that followed. _

_ As she gathered the supplies for the blood draw, Kanaya put it out of her mind and let Trueshot answer Twinhorn’s question. “The cooler castes contain a truly impressive amount of blood to begin with. It contributes to our ability to withstand grave injuries and extends our lifespans. I will need a week or so to recover, but I can easily spare four liters of blood.” _

_ Kanaya saw Twinhorn whisper another curse under his breath, before he turned to Kanaya and leaned a little closer to her supplies. “And what’s all that stuff?” _

_ “These are the instruments I need for the sample,” she said, glad to have something mundane and non-incriminating to talk about. “The needle, obviously, and the tube to allow blood to flow into the bag here. There’s also some disinfectant swabs.” _

_ Twinhorn nodded like he was taking note. Nostalgic for her former assistant, the Lodestar, Kanaya offered him a small smile. “I understand your position at the API is in information services, but would you be interested in studying medicine?” _

_ “Oh, uh… I might be,” Twinhorn said. “I’ve been doing some reading about hemobiology lately, just for a change of pace. This is my first time seeing this equipment up close since I started doing that, so…” _

_ Kanaya nodded and slid her tray of supplies closer to Trueshot, preparing for his donation. She could count the number of times she had spoken with Twinhorn on a single hand, but he seemed to sway between two extreme personalities, one excessively angsty and the other endearingly confident. Still, he could show nervousness and humility when operating in fields outside of his expertise. “Perhaps some tutelage could be in order? Trueshot, what if Twinhorn volunteered to modernize some of the hospital’s record-keeping services in exchange for some basic mediculler training?” _

_ “I do not think that would be acceptable,” Trueshot answered, leaning his body closer to Kanaya so she could insert the needle, and making Kanaya’s examiner chair groan again in the process. “I believe it contradicts the premise of the API to allow the specialized Delegates to cross-train in other disciplines.” _

_ “I’m not  _ that _ interested either,” Twinhorn added, but Kanaya could see him watching Kanaya’s technique like he wanted to imprint it into his brain. “But, you said you were a mediculler in the brooding caverns? They train jades to do everything like this because other castes aren’t allowed, right?” _

_ “That’s correct,” Kanaya said. With the needle inserted, Trueshot started to flex his hand to encourage blood to flow faster into the tube and then the bag. Viscous sapphire fluid started to drain into the plastic pouch. _

_ “I bet things are pretty analog down there. Or did they train jadebloods in IT too?” _

_ Kanaya knew these conversations too well. All non-jades she met had at least a little curiosity about life in the brooding caverns; some just buried it better than others. Well, Twinhorn wasn’t asking for any information that compromised the safety or well-being of the Mother Grub. A few answers wouldn’t hurt. “In the caverns proper, very little technology exists. Too much electricity poses a fire and smoke hazard to the Mother and her hatchlings. But, we do train technicians to operate the security gates at the entrance to the caverns.” _

_ Twinhorn nodded, watching Trueshot’s donation flow into the bag and perhaps reflexively clenching his own hand. “Hang on, so do you have  _ no _ digital records down in the caverns when it comes to this? And does this mean you have no internet, television, radio?” _

_ “We have lots of books,” Kanaya told him with a smile. Twinhorn was young, and probably had never known a life without the wonders of modern technology. “And we have some very imaginative storytellers if you tire of turning pages.” _

_ The goldblood’s questions trailed off after that, and Kanaya pinched the tube to switch out a full blood bag for an empty one. Trueshot still had the stamina to donate, and Twinhorn did request a maximum sample. Kanaya had to wonder how many locks Twinhorn planned to create that needed Trueshot’s blood, or how much blood he needed as a master sample in each one. It almost made her wish he had taken her up on her offer for tutelage, so she could ask questions of her student about how blood scanners worked. She used them every time she entered and exited the brooding caverns, but never gave much thought to their construction and function. _

_ Even with his steady blood flow, it took Trueshot half an hour to finish his donation. Kanaya bandaged his arm and started to pack up an insulated crate with four bags of blood and a few extra vials when Twinhorn asked for one thing more. _

_ “Hold up, actually, I know I’m not the medicine guy at the API, but I’ll need samples from everyone else—but not  _ everyone _ else, just the Delegation—we need access to at least some of these places, since we run the whole thing,” Twinhorn explained. “Maybe not all of them, we’ll leave the weaponry for Trueshot alone, being a blueblood and all, you know how it goes, some traditions… just don’t let them die!” _

_ “Do you need the Benevole to visit the API and take samples from the rest of the Delegation?” Trueshot attempted to summarize. _

_ “Oh, I mean, she’s busy here most of the time, so I think we can do it ourselves, we just need. The needles and tubes, all the stuff she used. I swear I will call you if it even  _ smells  _ like we can’t take the samples on our own, but it shouldn’t be a problem. You’ve met Delegate Molybden, right? Who did the mediculler portion of Guardian training?” Twinhorn gestured at Trueshot, like speaking with his hands could encourage the Guardian to remember the troll in question more quickly. “She’s just the best, so I don’t think there’s going to be any trouble. I just want to pick up the supplies for her while I'm here, so she doesn’t have to ask.” _

_ “Very well,” Trueshot said, and Kanaya turned to her cabinets and pulled out what Twinhorn needed: a few plastic-sealed needles, lengths of medical tubing and the donation bags, a heaping handful of disinfectant wipes, and bandages for after. _

_ “Thanks so much, this has been a huge help, we’ll send you some jars of honey as thanks, okay?” _

_ Kanaya smiled again. She really got the feeling Twinhorn would get along well with the energetic Lodestar, wherever she may be in the world. “Thanks is unnecessary, but would be deeply appreciated. It’s been a pleasure.” _

_ “Thanks again!” Twinhorn took the now-sealed insulated box and left the medical bay, ready to ferry his samples back to the API for processing and testing. Kanaya disposed of her gloves and pulled on a new pair as Trueshot stood and stretched. _

_ “You’ve known Twinhorn for a few sweeps now, haven’t you?” Kanaya asked. _

_ “I have.” _

_ “Did he seem… jumpy to you?” _

_ “Most warmbloods appear jumpy to me, actually. They are quick to speak and act before thinking, and thus in need of guidance.” Trueshot seemed to realize the implication of his statement a moment later. “Present company excluded, of course. Your calm poise is… very impressive.” _

_ “Thank you,” Kanaya said, still processing whether she felt flattered or offended by her exclusion from warmblooded stereotypes. “Now, I believe we both have work to do.” _

_ “Of course. Thank you for your help.” _

_ “I’m happy to be of assistance.” _


	51. Boombox

turntechGodhead [TG] is now pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TG: hey  
TG: so its been like a week  
TG: if you can call this a week  
TG: actually apart from like some arbitrary designators of time like sleep and meals how are we even sure its been a week  
TG: i guess rose knows by virtue of being the mystical knower of shit  
TG: or shes tracking how much time has passed based on how physically close we are to the new session instead of how long weve actually been here  
TG: fuck time powers used to feel so limitless but i guess im just another chump sitting here on the backburner  
TG: getting crispy in the pan on the bottom while the top gets bloated from aromatic cooking steam  
TG: hot ass and big head the true strider experience  
TG: or I guess thats what youd say  
TG: not the hot ass part but the big head part  
TG: i have no idea what you think of my ass  
TG: i have no idea what i think of my ass  
TG: im sitting on it at the moment  
TG: its doing a pretty good job serving as a built in seat cushion  
TG: and im kind of outside your room  
TG: the new room not the old room if you needed that specified  
TG: and i promise im not right outside the door im just kinda down the hall  
TG: fuck typing it out like that makes me realize this is a fucking rancid idea like its got huge green stink lines radiating off of it  
TG: thats the stench of straight creeping  
TG: but i guess i wanted to pull a page from the romcoms on this one  
TG: sit outside your window with a boombox over my head playing some classic rock hit that just brings on the swoons like nothing else  
TG: whatever it takes to help make you certain that im here for you and here to stay  
TG: im gonna do it  
TG: and that includes sitting out here in the fucking hallway with like a grand total of three pillows a bag of doritos and my computer which i thought was going to be for entertainment but now i think im just gonna use to message you  
TG: give you the play-by-play of dave sitting in a hallway in the hopes that the rare and endangered fluffed karkat will someday leave its habitat  
TG: okay im out of doritos already  
TG: its just so easy to binge through the bag theyre so fucking addicting  
TG: or did i just not have a big enough bag  
TG: you said you had a texture issue with them right? you said they were like knobby bark from a sandpaper tree?  
TG: which first of all thats cold man  
TG: but i guess i can respect that opinion  
TG: tastes and all  
TG: hey i invented sour patch kids a while back  
TG: just whipped them up on the alchemiter with a ton of other movie goodies  
TG: we should have a movie night again sometime  
TG: i actually know a place where i can set up a fucking projector screen and turn everything mega-sized  
TG: the true earth theatrical experience  
TG: its pretty fucking sweet if i say so myself  
TG: we can toss in any movie you like   
TG: troll movie or earth movie basically your pick  
TG: you want some honesty hour i know im not into a ton of what you like cinematically speaking but youve got some surprising treasures in there  
TG: and even if the movie sucks im glad to be there with you  
TG: uh  
TG: okay its been a few hours and i kind of hoped youd be speaking to me by now  
TG: did gamzee like predict that id try throwing myself at your door and having a fucking verbal meltdown and that was all somehow part of my nefarious master plan to make you be my friend???  
TG: because yeah i do want that  
TG: i want us to be friends again but you should also know by now i am not well suited to being a schemer  
TG: like i can play a trick or two or get you going for half a minute over some stupid earth shit but you always find me out  
TG: and i think the only reason i was as good at time loops as i was is that i had people guiding me  
TG: terezi and davesprite especially  
TG: rose kinda since she had the horrorterror shit figured out  
TG: ladies and ghost birds are the only reason i approximate anything looking like a cool guy  
TG: but what can you do  
TG: what are you doing in there is it a movie mania marathon?  
TG: you left your movies in your old room so i guess you made new ones or these are the ones you had in your sylladex all along  
TG: hey why do you have a troll will smith?  
TG: i get that will smith is amazing and every universe is a better place for having him in it but ive seen your movies with troll will smith in them its the same fucking dude all his suave hilarity and badassery in equal measure he just has green blood and horns  
TG: which side note thresh prince of bel air is fucking incredible i cant believe you only have the first three seasons  
TG: thats some shameful lack of preparation for the apocalypse and saving cultural treasures  
TG: but yeah why is he called troll will smith on your planet and just will smith on mine?  
TG: didnt alternia come first?   
TG: or is this one of those recursive effort things like how johns birthday is the blind prophet numerals  
TG: or fuck wait that could still be the other way around like earth has april thirteenth because of the blind prophets on alternia  
TG: who then predicted you would make earth  
TG: but its pretty obvious the will smith thing is backwards right?  
TG: why isnt he will smith and human will smith?  
TG: also why doesnt he have a stupid six-six or eight letter name?  
TG: i think you told me why but i forgot  
TG: can you tell me again?  
TG: …  
TG: no dice huh  
TG: okay i am definitely trying to convince you into talking to me leaving all kinds of enticing conversation entry points for you to just bust into my stream of consciousness like the headliner dj of the night  
TG: clear out my warm up act and start the the vantastic beats or whatever it is you want to call your funky flow  
TG: drop the beat on my skull and melt my face with the awesomeness  
TG: youre kind of my god right?   
TG: remember when you spammed that status over all our heads to get us to listen to you?  
TG: it was pretty hilarious in hindsight  
TG: but i guess i dont mind it happened this way  
TG: okay fuck i fell asleep  
TG: no idea how long its been this hallway still looks the fucking same but i feel like it was a couple of hours  
TG: maybe you popped out and doodled some shit on my face?  
TG: hell yes face is clean alright thanks man  
TG: what the hell was i talking about before this?  
TG: right godhood  
TG: we explained the zodiac to you right?  
TG: all your signs and lususes and whatever are part of my species enduring mythology  
TG: so based on when your birthday is and where the planets are in this big sky chart the newspaper is supposed to know your personality and future  
TG: but you know what apart from being born from meteors and not moms you know whats bullshit about it  
TG: jade rose and i are all sagittarius  
TG: equius  
TG: fucking EQUIUS  
TG: sweaty milky pony archery poetry workout asshole  
TG: i think i talked with him once and it was the worst fifteen minutes of my fucking life  
TG: i dont know if rose or jade talked to him ever  
TG: and i cant think of the last time rose jade and i could ever be considered the same kind of person so the fact we all have the same star sign and therefore predictions from the fucking astrologers is bullshit  
TG: and then john  
TG: john is an aries  
TG: that means aradia  
TG: the fuck does john have in common with aradia  
TG: or fucking rams or whatever  
TG: equius and aradia watching over us fucking clone baby monsters  
TG: what the hell  
TG: fuck that  
TG: astrology was also one of the worst parts of earth  
TG: do trolls have astrology?  
TG: does astrology mean anything for a spacefaring species when you know the stars arent just flat pictures on a disk but a ton of points in space like dust motes more than map dots?  
TG: okay no thats not making it into my next rap but the point still stands  
TG: what does astrology mean when you can just leave the planet all those stars are supposed to govern?  
TG: do the same stars rearrange into new constellations and govern other planets like some kind of ever-twirling prism filter  
TG: or one of those terrible optical illusions that keeps showing you a cup or two faces back and forth or the rabbit and duck  
TG: and does the bad luck that the stars predict on one planet follow you to another?  
TG: is it the specific cosmic moonbeams that hit you when youre standing still that make a guys life into a nightmare?  
TG: and if it is what if you cant leave?  
TG: fuck thats not what I meant to say  
TG: thats dark as shit and not where I wanted to go  
TG: im going to shut up  
TG: actually no im just going to say something else  
TG: uh lets see…  
TG: rose and kanaya are actually together now  
TG: i think you missed that  
TG: like its kind of obvious rose got her shit together now and i think you were here to witness the triumphant return of sobroseity but kanaya and rose are sitting in a tree  
TG: k i s s i n g  
TG: that joke doesnt make sense when im not there to sing song it  
TG: remind me to sing song that at you thats gonna make it infinitely funnier  
TG: or it wont because youll know its coming  
TG: i think i just owned myself but what else is new  
TG: i bet youll get a kick out of that whenever you read this sixteen billion message long rant ive sent you  
TG: fuck yes kanaya brought me another bag of doritos  
TG: i told her to but its nice to see her deliver  
TG: she gets choice bro status  
TG: gonna slap some shuttershades on her and call her bronaya  
TG: and shed protest to the finer points of fashion but she and i and all who gaze upon her would know the truth that shes fly as fuck  
TG: so ive got some sustenance for the next few hours  
TG: i dont know whats going to happen when its time to take a shit  
TG: hang on i can just set windows for myself here so youll know that if you dont see me its because everybody poops  
TG: even gods  
TG: honestly sburb should have figured this out  
TG: immortality kind of sucks when youre still your bladders bitch  
TG: and i guess  
TG: i wanna say something about that hero dig from earlier  
TG: and the absolute last thing i want to do is make you feel bad about it because the hero stuff is just my baggage and you gave it a kick because of course you would we all fucking ganged up on you and you were trying to get out any way you could  
TG: i know that feeling  
TG: finding the shortest path to the nearest exit and all  
TG: and i was definitely being all kinds of incompetent by trying to prove i like you by spewing some death vow in your face  
TG: as a person and stuff  
TG: youre a person i like so  
TG: about the  
TG: hero thing  
TG: i really dont know what im doing there  
TG: i feel like everyone around me built up this idea of what heroism is  
TG: superman and king arthur and ben stiller  
TG: jk not ben stiller  
TG: jk that jk ben stiller rules  
TG: but then the game supposedly gave me this linear quest with a great fucking hero sign at the end of it  
TG: but i was pretty awful at doing that quest  
TG: i did a lot of shit right or at least competently but i gave my own quest the most non-heroic sidestep i possibly could  
TG: and then when we all started playing the game i kept seeing all the incredible things my friends did and all our guardians did and fuck even the stuff you trolls did and i thought  
TG: thats heroism  
TG: and thats not me  
TG: so i was just did the best i could and  
TG: fuck  
TG: i feel like theres a lot of stuff i have to unlearn about myself and the world  
TG: everyone who taught it to me before is dead and i havent met a single ghost who cares to reinforce it  
TG: this is not a problem  
TG: and maybe other things arent problems either  
TG: maybe im not a hero  
TG: and maybe the world or the universe or paradox space doesnt need heroes  
TG: it just needs people who take care of people  
TG: that might be enough  
TG: i think youre really good at that  
TG: you do it with a lot of yelling and cursing but i think i wouldnt trust anyone who assailed me with cookies straight from the oven and hosed me down with refreshing and nutritious milk  
TG: no nannas in the strider bloodline  
TG: just  
TG: bro and me  
TG: and  
TG: okay hold on im going to do that break thing and come back in like fifteen minutes okay  
TG: just chill for a second karkat  
TG: well all be cool about this and settled and chill and then ill bring this conversation machine right back where i left it  
TG: bye  
TG: okay im here  
TG: got some shitty coffee too just to make sure i have to pee again later because this is a vicious cycle that im now totally cursed to live through for eternity  
TG: is there a bathroom built into your new room or something  
TG: i forget what was in that room before you said it was yours  
TG: thats a sweet setup if there is  
TG: anyway  
TG: we were talking about heroes and people and which is better  
TG: or i was talking and you were i guess listening or maybe ignoring me  
TG: i hope youre at least listening  
TG: but youre one of those people who helps people  
TG: i mean trying to help people is kind of what made everything get fucked up in the first place and i understand if youre slow to trust again after that because fuck  
TG: you had a lot to say about you being the worst person in the world but first off thats not you and second off even that hypothetical person would not deserve what happened  
TG: and no one should be punished for being someone who cares  
TG: i just like that you care  
TG: by which i mean  
TG: exactly what i just typed  
TG: thats what i mean  
TG: yeah  
TG: wait a fuck what if will smith isnt from either of our universes  
TG: what if hes from a universe before either of ours maybe even like a dozen universal instances back and all sentient species that go on to make universes have their own incarnations of will smith representing the ideals of their respective societies  
TG: which pretty much all turn out to be humor and badassery because thats how the smith rolls  
TG: hes like a beacon of all that we can become and a reflection of all that we once were  
TG: god among men  
TG: trolls  
TG: other unknown alien races  
TG: infinite smiths  
TG: thats paradise man  
TG: in the new universe when the mayor founds real can town im going to found the museum of infinite smiths to enshrine every known and theoretical incarnation of will smith  
TG: starting with human will smith and troll will smith  
TG: and maybe theres a carapacian will smith  
TG: or a fucking mutant experiment will smith like biometric robocop  
TG: yeah  
TG: that sounds awesome  
TG: wanna cut the ribbon when it opens?  
TG: be the fucking grand chairman of the smith museum  
TG: theres no one id trust more to do the job  
TG: okay i cant keep this up anymore  
TG: i want to keep messaging you because i feel like i gotta see this through or else its all going to be meaningless but theres something i want to get straight  
TG: for every message i send to you im having like three internal conversations with myself about what to say  
TG: ive got so little to work with here but there was everything you said about how everything is your fault and we hate you and i had to look over this past two years on the meteor with you and figure out how gamzee proved that me hanging out with you and building can town and watching movies and teaching you to mix and drawing dicks in roses book and just  
TG: everything  
TG: how did he convince you that being your friend meant i hated you  
TG: and then how do i convince you back?  
TG: so i keep telling you shit like how i want to watch movies with you and asking questions about alternia for you to answer and then talking shit about myself to try and give you the sense that im not looking for some goddamn sidekick to boost my self esteem  
TG: and i dont know if any of this is working and its fucking exhausting  
TG: i dont know how you put up with trying to decipher inscrutable clown nonsense for months  
TG: i think youre a stronger person than me just inherently  
TG: but ive been here on the floor for probably a day and im fucking sick of it  
TG: i shouldnt have to prove to gamzee that i love you  
TG: youre the one i need to prove it to  
TG: because you matter to me  
TG: oh shit  
TG: oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my FUCKING god  
TG: gggggggggggggggod  
TG: um  
TG: fuck i dont know if i say sorry or not  
TG: because im sorry if that puts you in like a bad place  
TG: you just had to dump your troll diamond boyfriend for being bad clown worst nightmare and this isnt supposed to be about me and what i feel  
TG: maybe just like  
TG: put that in your head somewhere  
TG: next to the karkat expletive generator  
TG: and you can let it gather dust there or something  
TG: use it as a paperweight for your latest ideas about a book report on idk troll moby dick  
TG: i cant feel sorry about saying it because its true but i guess i want to say sorry in case you dont feel the same way  
TG: which would mean i put you on the spot and thats awful of me  
TG: maybe ill just see if i can sleep it off for a minute here and see if my face stops burning up  
TG: if you come out of your room put a kick me sign on my back if you have a crush on me too  
TG: flushcrush gotta make that clear  
TG: this is all  
TG: heartsy flush bright red human kissy romance  
TG: so its a kick me sign for a yes  
TG: and how about  
TG: i dont know  
TG: a dick on my back if you think im being a dick  
TG: which also means no youre not interested  
TG: i think im being a dick whether you answer yes or no so work with me here  
TG: and please dont write kick me inside a dick and put it on my back thats some mixed messages  
TG: i promise the sign you dont choose this first time around is fair game later when im not trying to use it to parse your romantic attitude toward me  
TG: later  
TG: no signs  
TG: dammit man I left myself wide open for you  
TG: im sure terezi would have kicked me if you left that one on me  
TG: vriska too  
TG: and probably rose but like in a light and sarcastic way  
TG: or actually rose would have gone to town psychoanalyzing how i requested a dick for your no response  
TG: “hey dave did you choose the phallic representation for karkats decline as a means of emotional self-castration in the face of rebuttal or as a fantasy projection you could use to pacify yourself after his rejection?”  
TG: you know the terrible part is i read over that again and its stupidly easy for me to hear her voice say that  
TG: i think she poisoned me with the psychologies  
TG: blinded me with science  
TG: deafened me with peer reviewed journals  
TG: im gonna put freud will smith in the museum too just covered in phallic symbols while he gives all the visitors a knowing sassy face  
TG: give him a cigar and a snake and telescope and popsicle and baguette and some kinda mushroom with a tall stalk and little hat  
TG: and im making everything worse by listing off how many things i know commonly represent dicks  
TG: jegus  
TG: why the hell did i not alchemize a gameboy or something  
TG: that feels like exactly the kind of thing a kid should make when given the infinite power to create and the only limit is his ability to combine shit  
TG: i made some cameras and clothes and like a sword or two thats it  
TG: i still have a polariod that prints out a sbahj comic about whatever i take a picture of  
TG: i took a few pictures but none were really worth remarking on  
TG: ill show them to you later if you want  
TG: also i should have brought about nineteen more pillows  
TG: i asked kanaya for some more doritos too but i think shes busy this time last time she at least answered pretty quick  
TG: terezi would be a last resort because those bags are red and i dont want to open a slobber-drenched bag

carcinoGeneticist [CG] is now trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: HEY.  
TG: holy shit karkat  
CG: YEAH.  
CG: HI, I GUESS.  
TG: have you been reading along the whole time or did you just get all of these?  
TG: all  
TG: 282 of them?  
CG: IN A FEW BURSTS.  
CG: SORRY I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING EARLIER.  
TG: no thats fine its cool  
TG: im just glad youre okay  
CG: THANKS.  
CG: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’VE BEEN IN THE HALLWAY THIS LONG.  
TG: how long is this long  
CG: NEARLY TWO DAYS. GO FIND SOMEWHERE REAL TO HANG OUT. IT’S FILTHY ON THE FLOOR AND UNCOMFORTABLE AND IS JUST TOTALLY USELESS IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY.  
TG: but my boombox  
CG: YOU CAN KEEP MESSAGING ME.  
CG: ACTUALLY, CAN YOU PLEASE KEEP MESSAGING ME?  
TG: uh  
CG: I MEAN LIKE  
CG: GET COMFORTABLE AND FEED YOURSELF AND STOP ROUGHING IT, BUT KEEP TALKING TO ME.  
CG: I DON’T REALLY FEEL UP TO TALKING BACK BUT  
CG: I MISSED YOU.  
TG: yeah  
TG: yeah i can do that  
TG: i can do the fuck out of that  
TG: im just gonna pack this shit up and find a squishy bed because i think my spine is filing for divorce as well as custody of my elbows  
TG: your regularly scheduled dave bullshit stream will resume shortly  
CG: THANKS  
CG: <3  
TG: holy shit  
TG: karkat i am going to test the limits of that little emoticon heart  
TG: lets see if you still like me after inviting the strider train of thought to come barreling through your frontal lobe  
TG: choo choo motherfuckers  
TG: <3  



	52. Exorcism for Dummies

“Fuck!!!!!!!!”

“Yeah, watch your horns.”

“How the shit did that clown crawl around in here for two years without knocking his _fucking_ skull off????????”

“In all likelihood, he did.”

Vriska took a pause at a nearby vent to just lie on the disgusting metal bottom. She didn’t even have the energy to feel grossed out about the dust and grime, so exhausted by the task of getting through these vents without the ability to raise her head more than an inch or two. It made her want to seriously injure Gamzee all over again. Or maybe this was his revenge. Stupid revenge from a stupid monster clown.

Terezi, tugging along behind her, paused. “Get your feet out of my face.”

“I _can’t_ , this vent is barely two feet wide.”

“You can absolutely get them out of my face, you just have to keep moving forward.”

Vriska groaned and raised her face off of the floor to squint at the darkness ahead. Even calling on her immense luck felt like a chore right now. She wished she could just sleuth things out in a normal way and save herself the effort. Why the fuck didn’t Karkat put signposts in these vents to make it easier on himself and any noble heroes who wanted to follow him? With Terezi impatiently on her ass, Vriska had to just use her luck to choose. “Turn right here.”

“Right behind you.”

Vriska kept making her way deeper into the ventilation system, arm over arm pulling her closer to the destination and deeper into her sour exhaustion. Maybe Karkat was onto something, stepping down when the work was done. If this was the kind of shit leaders had to drag themselves through, Karkat could _keep_ it. She was made for greater things than slogging through a disgusting air tube in a rock hurtling through an endless void.

When Vriska found the end, she took the chance to stand and close her eyes and stretch her arms over her head before even looking around. She heard Terezi tumble out after her and do a little similar self-care, but she got her bearings first.

“My god, this is disgusting,” Terezi said. “I can’t separate out the scent of the garbage from the stink it creates.”

Vriska could smell it too, some putrid cocktail of stale and rotting and sweaty and mildewy. She opened her eyes to see the heaps of garbage and miscellaneous bullshit piled around. She could see a few stacks of semi-organized belongings in a corner, a ray of Vantas in a pit of fetid Makara. “Fuck, if I had known this would be waiting for us in his lair, I would have strangled him with his codpiece.”

“And you’re sure the timeboxes are here? He didn’t hide them on his person?”

“No, I pretty much turned his sylladex inside out near the end there. Nothing of interest to us. Which means…” Vriska put her hands on her hips. “We have to sort through all of this garbage.”

“…You’re joking.”

“Noooooooope.”

“Please _start_ joking and say we don’t actually have to clean this! Use your luck of the draw to find what we want out of this mess and then let’s _go_!”

“No, I… I think this is important,” Vriska said. “We have to purge this place. Exorcise the air vents. Remove the seed of bad highblood rap and shadowy trickery and let this place be good—well, _tolerable_ again.”

“Vriska, I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

“Why, what’s so dangerous about it?”

“There’s nothing dangerous about it. But if you’re going to do this, I have to help.”

“You don’t have to.” Vriska said the words aloud just fine, but her heart started to beat harder. Terezi had been there to help when she'd had to do much more awful things, some in the name of sport, and some in the name of survival. And even with no glory or benefit to offer Terezi but the emotional satisfaction of knowing they had scrubbed Gamzee’s stains out of the meteor, she was still going to help.

“I won’t have to if you say you were kidding…” Terezi said. A crinkle on her nose showed her distaste.

“How about we do this.” Vriska stepped forward and brought out a few of her 8-ball sylladex cards to captchalogue the heaps of garbage in the vent hub. “We’ll sort through this in Vantas’ old block where we’ll have space to make sense of it all. Disgusting garbage can go in the hall immediately and anything useful can get stacked up. Maybe there’s some of your belongings in this madness?”

“Liaison Pumpkinsnuffle was declared MIA about a perigee ago,” Terezi recalled.

“See? More than enough reason to tackle this. The Scourge Sisters will tear it apart like a hurricane until there’s no trace left!”

Vriska held out a raised hand, and even blind, Terezi flawlessly connected her palm with Vriska’s in a pump-up grasp. Terezi was on board, and Vriska had no choice but to move forward. The day she admitted that Terezi’s trust in her gave Vriska the strength to do things she didn’t want to do would be the day she ate her cool God Tier fairy wings. And her dice.

The elbow-draw back to what counted as civilization was still torturous, but Vriska didn’t need as many stops, and she outpaced Terezi, which meant no more feet in Terezi’s face. When they reached Karkat’s block, Vriska looked around the sparse furniture and well-decorated walls (he put so much effort into alchemizing movie posters, and some of those didn’t even look like real movies) to decide where to dump all of the trash from the vents. She soon just piled it up in one corner, a true mountain of refuse and misery at least matching Vriska’s height, and figured that would leave them the rest of the room to sort in.

“So… what first?”

“If it’s trash, pitch it in the hallway. Otherwise just… put it somewhere else.”

“Gotcha.”

They found moldy grubloaf and cruddy sauce packets and nearly-rusted pie tins and microwave pastry meals left to thaw and ooze their filling into congealed puddles and Faygo bottles in more colors than Vriska thought even existed. Greasepaint with residue of white, gray, and black caked and dried so thick the lids didn’t fit on the tubes anymore. Honk horns—miniature, massive, multicolored, dented, whole—and the Unireal Air rocket unicycle which only stayed upright by the power of ‘who fucking cares?’ Shirts with his sign and lounge pants with spots and any other articles of clothing not _immediately_ recognizable as belonging to another person all went out in the hallway. Even some pieces which might have belonged to another troll were not given enough time to prove themselves as Sollux’s boxers or Equius’s tank top. There were even pieces of Aradiabots, nearly enough to rebuild her if she didn’t mind having a third arm instead of a leg.

_Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, OUT!_

The first sweep for garbage alone took at least three hours and got rid of nearly half the pile. Terezi and Vriska shoved it back into a smaller heap and then slumped down against one of the walls.

Terezi waved a hand in front of her face. “At least I can _see_ again now, and that’s worth something.”

“You’re blind, Terezi.”

“No, I mean, odor produced by the things I’m smelling isn’t overpowering what those things are. I can smell the colors again.”

Vriska felt like she should say something thankful or appreciative, but that ran the danger of becoming mushy, and vulnerable, and she chickened out. “It’s nice to have a reminder your nose isn’t a perfect replacement for your eyes. Otherwise you’d be waaaaaaaay overpowered.”

Terezi snickered. “Sure, makes sense. It’s not fun unless my opponents have a fighting chance.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes more, Vriska scanning the pile of stuff and thinking about how best to tackle it. Maybe she was just tired, but the sheer size and mass of the pile was kind of inviting. Maybe she should be taking a break in the heap they were trying to clean out. And if Terezi was there…

 _Enough of that!_ Vriska scooted away from Terezi first and then stood again. “Maybe we can do another cut between things that belong to dead people versus alive people. I think I found some of Tavros’s Fiduspawn gear in there.”

“Maybe we can bribe Rufioh with it,” Terezi suggested.

“Bribe him to do what?”

“Whatever we want. If he can be useful, great. If he can be entertaining, that might be even better.”

“That’s the spirit. Oh, and we’ll split all the boondollars we find fifty-fifty at the end. No point in trying to find the rightful owners for those,” Vriska said, having already found some loose change in the pile and secretly pocketed it.

“Right, except for the fact you’re not going to tell me if you find any money, and then you’ll just ask for half of mine,” Terezi called her lie. “We’ll split the money by finders keepers rules, and if you cheat and use your luck to pull out all the cash, I am going to give every one of your belongings I find a big, slobbery tongue-bath.”

Vriska rolled her eyes. “You’ve made your point! Now are we doing this or what?!”

The second cut took a little longer. Some objects had obvious owners: works of fine art, clumps of red and blue wires, swimming goggles, pruning shears, a green drawing tablet, over-ear headphones with a record design on the side, and the missing Liaison Pumpkinsnuffle who would need a thorough wash before resuming his post on the force. Vriska even found those timeboxes and triumphantly returned them to her sylladex for safekeeping.

But, other objects didn’t have such clear owners. A pair of shoes? They were black and looked kind of average in size. They kind of looked like Karkat’s, but were they someone else’s backup pair? This hairbrush was black too, and it probably belonged to someone with longer hair, but half the trolls’ team fit that description. A folding chair had no clear owner. Neither did a box of plain drawing paper. Terezi said she’d happily use it, but after prolonged sniffing couldn’t claim it was rightfully hers in the first place.

And then Vriska found a book.

The worn leather cover, so different from its surroundings, caught Vriska’s attention immediately. She pulled it from the pile and felt the crumbling grain and fragile pages under her fingers. A few bookmarks stuck out from the edges of the pages. The cover looked like it had a dragon’s face on it, long-snouted and sharp-toothed. She turned it to the spine to see if it might be one of Terezi’s more antique books of Alternian law, but she still couldn’t find a title. Thinking she might have it backwards, Vriska turned the book one more time to the back cover, which showed a roaring lion… upside down. She had to flip the book again to make it look like a normal volume.

“What the fuck is this?” Vriska opened the cover and read words written in bright, bright red.

“What?” Terezi stepped a little closer, sniffing over Vriska’s shoulder.

“…You are in possession of the Testament of the Chimeric, what the _hell_? Did Gamzee find this?”

“Wait, look at those.” Terezi reached out and brushed a finger along the edge of the book, touching dozens of little paper flags. “Gamzee wouldn’t do that. This is annotated. Karkat does this to his favorite novels.”

“So _Karkat_ had this the whole time, and he didn’t tell any of us?!”

“He hasn’t been telling us a lot of shit for a while now. If he felt like we hated him, maybe he withheld evidence to get back at us.”

“But where did this even come from in the first place?” Vriska started flipping through the pages. A few of them wiggled under her fingers like loose teeth, so she set it down on Karkat’s makeshift desk and touched it more gently. It gave her a pang of nostalgia, remembering Mindfang’s hard-form journal. That volume had survived so much time and distance to arrive in that exact moment, where it needed to be. That kind of profound luck had humbled even Vriska, at least for a moment. _This is what it means to take up your ancestor’s legacy._

“We can figure out its origins later. What does it say?”

“God, he wrote so much, this is truly something only a Vantas could create.” Vriska continued turning pages. “I guess first, what time period does this cover? I think he’s talking about… the Amphibiortress, and the Compasse… It looks like this is from when he was in good graces…” She flipped too far and found the text inverted, upside-down. “Woah, shit!”

“What?!”

She closed the book and flipped it around to open the dragon-side cover. “Fuck, he wrote in it from both covers?”

“What a douchebag.”

“Seriously.” Vriska turned the book back to the lion side and looked closer at the things Karkat had tabbed to see what in this book was actually important. He had a few passages marked with exclamation points, question marks, and the signs of their friends (she saw the Peixes sign four times, and Captor’s once) and then she found one marked with Terezi’s sign. Leaving the book flat on the table, Vriska used the bookmark to lift it open to that page and started to read.

_ The fact I can now say that I have seen the Vigilant Lawscale at work is one of the greatest blessings of my life. In a calmer moment I may amend that statement but I have no need for objectivity in this side. No feat of physical, intellectual, or artistic skill can match the impact that Lawscale’s deft prosecution has left upon me. Should I be even a fourth as talented as she, I would be kissed by fortune itself and capable of great deeds. _

“Hey, don’t read in your head, read aloud!” Terezi protested. “I don’t want to have to lick that dusty, rotting paper to figure out what’s going on.”

Vriska bit her tongue for a moment, then re-read that flowery passage aloud and continued where she left off.

“I knew her color, sign, and face before this night, but her appearance as a whole can’t be described by listing her physical traits. She walks through a courtblock like a bird glides through air, at peace in a storm and brimming with purpose I hope to someday understand. She weaves the truth between her fingers and ensnares those who wish harm upon others with a knot too deftly crafted to perceive until she has already pulled it taut. And while she has been forced to fill the aqua-colored box drawn for her, I see every turn of phrase she uses to fight the very role she embodies so perfectly. Lawscale every bit as resplendent and revolutionary as her work. What if my work someday impresses her? If she, one day, looks at some new law or treatise and sees my name on it and smiles…”

Vriska kind of got tripped up in the grammar of how that sentence ended—the Chimeric could be just as long-winded as his descendant, even when he felt no one was reading—but she could feel a lump growing in her throat. This was getting a little too intense, too private. Maybe that’s why Karkat hid it in the first place.

She tried to joke about it. “Ugh, I feel like I need a cold shower after reading that. This is some ‘Dear Hivestemcap’ shit, right?”

But Terezi wasn’t saying anything. She had her face turned down toward the floor and her shoulders slouched.

“Terezi, what’s wrong?”

“N—It’s nothing,” Terezi bluffed. “I guess… Vantases always like… Pyropes…”

Vriska stepped away from the journal, a little closer to Terezi. “Usually you’d be cackling over a point like that—why are you nearly crying?”

“I—”

“You are! Don’t lie to me!” Vriska placed her hands on Terezi’s shoulders. “Haven’t we learned by now that the only person we can’t lie to is each other? I need you to tell me so I can help you!”

Terezi didn’t say anything. She leaned forward until she had her body braced against Vriska’s and her face nearly on the Thief’s shoulder. Her sunglasses scratched Vriska’s neck, but Terezi fumbled with them and tossed them beside the journal. Vriska’s arms practically moved on their own to drop from Terezi’s shoulders to around her back.

“Okay, okay…” Vriska tried to make something scathing come out following that, something to build distance between her and Terezi, but it didn’t work. She just kept saying ‘okay,’ and she started to pat Terezi’s back, and she could feel tears on her shoulder, small but growing. “Okay… It’s okay…”

“Karkat… only realized what Gamzee was doing… when he thought about Gamzee doing it to me,” Terezi mumbled, quiet but so close to Vriska’s ear she could hear every word. “In a timeline without you, Gamzee abused me.”

“But how did he, fuck, _why_ would he…”

“I don’t know. I don’t know any of that, but Karkat said… it’s why he decided to let us take him down… because he cares what happens to me more than what happens to him… And I don’t know if I’m actually the person he thinks I am…”

Terezi trailed off. Her fingers gripped the back of Vriska’s jacket and the tears fell faster, harder. Vriska had never seen anything like this before. They had done everything together since they met as children but somehow, Vriska had never seen Terezi cry. What was she supposed to do? Stand here and just let Terezi keep crying? What else _could_ she do? If she moved she’d disturb Terezi. She felt heavy on Vriska’s shoulder, far heavier than Vriska knew her to be. Feeling that weight just made her more determined to hold it.

For all the power Vriska had gained, never in her life had she felt such a clear understanding of why that power mattered.

“…You already are,” Vriska said. “I know you are. And even if you’re not, I’m gonna help you be that person. You don’t have to worry. We’re going to make sure everything’s okay.”

The longer Vriska held her and the more Terezi cried, Vriska could feel a strange emptiness around her body, like the same feeling she got when standing somewhere high with a strong wind blowing around. She needed to be somewhere lower, more stable, and warmer, like surrounded by stuff, somewhere like…

Like that pile of mostly-clean bullshit sitting there in the corner.

Vriska gave Terezi a squeeze and started to pull back, encouraging Terezi to step with her until they reached the edge of the pile. Vriska let her knees bend and fell backwards against the heap, Terezi coming with, and it took only a little pull more to encourage Terezi to nestle in beside Vriska. Now that was better, _now_ Vriska felt safe enough to make some progress here—

“Hang on,” Terezi said, very quietly at first, but she repeated it a few times until she and Vriska sat up. “No, this is just too weird. All this stuff belongs to our dead friends, and the humans, and Gamzee probably slept in it, or worse…”

“Oh,” Vriska said. What else was she supposed to say?

“But this is something you… want? You’re not just getting swept up in how I’m a mess right now?”

“No. No, I think we’ve felt this—or at least, _I’ve_ felt this way for a long time.” Vriska shifted her weight and could feel some very strange corners poke against her back. “But if we’re going to talk about feelings, we should be—”

“You’re right, you’re completely right, I’m not complaining about a pile, just… _this_ pile.”

Terezi smiled a little, and Vriska looked at her burned-out eyes, flat and red and blind and the part of Terezi’s face she was most proud of in spite of how she lost them. “It’s time we call a diamond a diamond, isn’t it?” Terezi managed. “Find me a better pile and I promise, I’ll… barf my feelings all over you.”

Vriska laughed and exclaimed, “Gross!” but she already knew where they should go. Terezi’s block had enough soft, squishy scalemates to build a mountain. So she got up and helped Terezi out of the pile, remembering to snag her shades too before leaving the block.

The fact Vriska knew she wanted—needed—to do this scared her a little bit. Maybe she wasn’t used to being honest with herself. But if Terezi was willing to help her practice, Vriska would be happy to learn.


	53. (Not) Like Me

_His little bro’s pen skipped over the page like a stone over a lake. The Chimeric sat on the floor, a low table over his legs and pages of legislation spread out before him. The Compasse’s court got some funny idea that they could make the Chimeric quit if they promised he would have what he was fighting for upon arrest. He had answered with a quickly issued idea that the Tribes would be unable to make a decision on this proposal until they had a chance to discuss it, but in the meantime, he seemed to take joy in editing the proposed reforms. Gamzee, molded around his back like an armchair, felt every chuckle and snort in his little bro’s body as he crossed out lines and jotted replacement proposals in the margins. He’d mutter to himself too, like “get an original argument” and “this would never work in a million sweeps” and “have they forgotten I’m smarter than the average Guardian?”_

_Gamzee remembered they used to sit like this sweeps ago, when the Chimeric had been so much smaller, just starting to create his ‘self’ out of his new power to speak. Still, the Chimeric fit quite snugly in Gamzee’s lap, the top of his head right under Gamzee’s chin and Gamzee’s arms slung around his waist. He enveloped the Chimeric, and if Gamzee knew anything about his moirail, he knew this suited the both of them fine. Gamzee felt like he had a little blaze in his soul when he hugged the Chimeric like this, and in return, Gamzee let the Chimeric take shelter in him, like a fortress._

_“Nice try,” the Chimeric mumbled with another swish of his pen. “BUOYs_ already _have that right, but no one told them. Fucking charlatans.”_

 _Gamzee tilted his head enough to let his cheek rest against the Chimeric’s head._ Those buzzing, burning, beautiful thoughts…

_Things were quiet around their camp, which for now was a commandeered lookout near the sea. Their forces had swept in and ousted the coastal protectors inside, and now the watchtower and a few sun shelters around it served as their base. A few lieutenants, the Tameless among them, had gone out to recruit in the nearest communities. The Seafarer had holed himself up in the tower’s command center, using its radio to signal the other Tribes and vet strategic questions. If Gamzee didn’t know better, he’d say the old fish liked being at war._

_Sometime around midnight, some shouts passed through the tower. One of the recruitment teams was coming back, new ruddies in tow. The true welcome wagon would probably have to wait until tomorrow night, but the new souls needed a greeting from their blood-stained leader. Gamzee’s moirail turned to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek before standing, pulling on his armor and weapons, and leaving the tower to meet the new recruits._

_As soon as they stepped out, Gamzee could tell something was different. A breathless brownblood made it to the door ahead of his team. As soon as he was in range, he panted, “There’s a wiggler! A wiggler came!”_

_“Are you sure?” the Chimeric asked._

_“Her eyes are gray, she has to be.”_

_“How old?”_

_“Six, we think. Maybe seven. We didn’t know what to say, so…”_

_The Chimeric nodded. “Understood. Let me speak with her.”_

_The messenger returned to the group, a few dozen new faces among them, but they were not the focus. Almost immediately, the grown trolls stepped aside to show the wiggler in their midst. She had mostly straight hair with some kind of maybe-trendy zigzag pattern cut at the bottom, and forward-curling horns, like antennae. Her olive colored sign, worn from shoulder to hip, looked like a squashed circle with arcs tied to the top and bottom._

_“You address the Chimeric,” he began. “Who do I address?”_

_“Vivica,” the girl said. Gamzee’s heart sank. It would be one thing for her to be some precocious youngster, claiming the trappings of adulthood before growing into them like the Chimeric had, but she still used her hatch name. She knew she was young._

_“How old are you?” he asked._

_“Does it matter?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Well, how old are_ you _?”_

_“I am titled.”_

_“They say you got your title when you were seven,” Vivica said. “So seven-sweepers are good enough, right?”_

_“Are you seven?”_

_“And a half,” she said, and Gamzee sensed the reflexive spike of fear of an inexperienced liar._

_“Where are you from?”_

_“We’re all from Prontic Point.”_

_The Chimeric looked to the leader of the team. “Get everyone inside and start matching them to mentors. I’ll decide on this shortly.”_

_The trolls obeyed, leaving the Chimeric, Gamzee, and Vivica alone outside. Windows in the compound would let anyone inside see, but they had relative privacy._

_“You’re aware that this is a war, is that correct, Vivica?” the Chimeric asked._

_“I know.”_

_“We kill people, Vivica.”_

_She nodded, jaw clenched._

_“Do you want to kill people?”_

_Vivica struggled with that. “Not… always?”_

_“Situationally?”_

_“Like when they’re my enemy, yeah.”_

_“Why are you a terrorist, Vivica?”_

_“I’m not.”_

_“You left hive and lusus to join a terrorist cell.”_

_“You’re freedom fighters.”_

_“We are_ terrorists _,” the Chimeric urged, taking a step closer to her. “We win because we make people afraid. Are you afraid, Vivica?”_

_Gamzee knew she was. Fear of staying, fear of leaving, fear of dying, fear of killing, but she still stood her ground. This funny little greenblood felt like she had something inside of her stronger than fear, and the Chimeric wanted to test it._

_“Being brave means doing something even though you’re scared,” she told him._

_“So you’re here to see how brave you are? Would you like me to award you a medal?”_

_“I want you to stop talking like I’m—fucking around!” Vivica spat the swear like she was ripping off a bandage. “I get yelled at by my cullers, picked on for being weird, and then punished for standing up for myself! Culling isn’t fair! I read your decalogue and I want to fight for it! I want the world to be different and you’re the ones making that happen!”_

_“So you’re ready to fight, are you?” the Chimeric took more steps toward Vivica. She took half of one back. “How good are you?”_

_“Unbeaten,” Vivica said. “Fight’s only over when the c-cullers pull me off.”_

_“And what makes you think you’re ready to fight the Compasse?”_

_The moonlight glinted on one of the Chimeric’s sickles. Gamzee started to step forward too as something dark settled on the back of his neck, like anticipation of a lightning strike._

_“I’m ready for my fights to mean something.”_

_The Chimeric laughed dryly. “Let’s see if you’re as ready as you say you are, shall we?!”_

_His sickle flashed, swung back and then forward, but not far enough to strike. Gamzee reached out and grabbed hold of his moirail’s wrist, stilling it mid-swing. The strength of his caste outclassed the Chimeric’s training; he couldn’t move an inch closer to Vivica, who had fallen back._

_“I’m saying no to this right now,” Gamzee said. He kept his voice low, but with Vivica’s panting breath the only sound apart from the ocean, she probably heard._

_“She’s here to fight—she needs testing!” the Chimeric insisted_

_“I don’t give one wicked motherfucking shit whether she stays or goes, but if you have to swing steel at her to decide, I’ll drag her back myself, right motherfucking now.”_

_Vivica’s warmblooded mind screamed into the psychic plane:_ I don’t wanna die I’m sorry I can’t I didn’t mean to I want Lyon I don’t want this— _On and on as she tried to catch her breath. Whatever had compelled her to reach out to the rebellion in the first place seemed soundly snapped, and only fear remained._

_The Chimeric looked from Vivica to Gamzee, and then let the tension drain out of his arm. When Gamzee released it, it lowered to his side, and he said, “My apologies. One doesn’t come to lead terrorists by being... sane. You’ll see worse than this for sure, if you stay.”_

_Vivica pulled her knees to her chest, then put feet beneath herself and stood, but her knees still shook in time with her panic._

_“What is your answer, Vivica?” the Chimeric prompted._

_“Ta—take me back. I’m sorry, I won’t say anything, I p-promise, just let me leave…”_

_The Chimeric nodded. “The lieutenant will drop you off a point where the cullers will find you. Stay where you are for a few moments more.”_

_Then he trudged back into the outpost, barking an order for the lieutenant to take some trolls and escort Vivica to the edges of civilization. And once those words were out of his mouth, for a time, everything went back to normal. The Chimeric struck up conversations with the new recruits, learning enough about them to decide who in their new, compact tribe would be their best introduction to rebellious life. But Gamzee couldn’t just forget. He didn’t give damn whether Vivica ran home to cry on her lusus or toughed it out and waved their flag on the front line. But the Chimeric, swinging violent arts at a wiggler… he couldn’t understand it._

_When sunrise crept closer, the onboarding work stretched on, and it looked like Gamzee wasn’t going to get his little bro into a pile anytime soon. He had to find some other way to ask the questions on his pan. With the two of them taking a shift of nutrition preparation work, skinning motherfucking root tubers pilfered from the rations closet, Gamzee spoke up._

_“Got my wonder on to what you were thinking… out there,” Gamzee asked, trying to sound casual._

_The Chimeric gave him a small, sarcastic glance, so he knew he was failing, but the Chimeric would let it slide. “Shouldn’t a troll know his moirail’s mind better than anything?”_

_“That might be applicable to some motherfuckers who ain’t up to their honk horns in battle, getting their fight on to every assumption ever made on this ball of dirt and water.” Gamzee switched out one tuber for another. “You… won’t be holding any kinds of motherfucking resentments over a sorry motherfucker exercising some veto power, will you?”_

_“No, I won’t. You were well within your rights to stop me, in multitudinous capacities.”_

_A little of Gamzee’s worry lifted. He and the Chimeric had never delineated how much of the Chimeric’s insanity Gamzee had the power to stop. Most of the rest of it was either showy bluster or strategic risk. “I just remembered when I was that young…”_

_“Oh?”_

_The Chimeric cleared his throat and continued with a detached tone, slow and almost euphemistic. “I remember a time, when I was young and I had a very terrible idea… about how I was ready to be an adult. And I asked for something very inappropriate from someone I had strong feelings about. And that person… gave me a scare. So I backed off. And it kept me from doing something inexcusably stupid.”_

_Aw, motherfucking fuck. If they didn’t have two hundred odd mouths to feed Gamzee would have made a pile out of the fucking tubers and let the snuggling commence. But he needed to focus, and he could be a palestruck fool later._

_“I think I remember, rounda-fucking-bout that same time, being a motherfucking idiot with pretty much no idea of what would be a good thing to do in the long run,” Gamzee added. “And I had no idea if giving a scare to that motherfucker would set him on a straight and narrow or get me excommunicated faster.”_

_“I have a much greater understanding of your improvisational techniques now,” the Chimeric added. There was a smile trying to make its way to his face, but the event that made this conversation necessary squashed it down._

_“And can I get your motherfucking word you’re gonna keep being more like you and never again try and be like me?” Gamzee asked._

_The Chimeric nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea. Mirthful, you have my word.”_

 

* * *

 

_When morning came and Lawscale stood Vriska up for breakfast, she spent a few minutes nibbling on her meal before pushing it away. By her best guess, the Vigilant had grown bored of their legislative tactics and wanted to play hooky. Didn’t she know aimless resistance against authority was Vriska’s job? Well, no, it was never aimless resistance. It was meticulously and thoroughly planned resistance orchestrated for her personal benefit. She should delineate those two types of resistance better._

_Her theory that Lawscale was skipping work out of boredom or spite started to crumble when she found Lawscale’s block door, knocked a few times, then picked the handle open to find the place had been very quickly ransacked, a small radio still playing. A small amount of clothing seemed missing, as well as most common hygiene products. Vriska looked to the map of the wall with brightly color-coded ruddy attacks around the world and realized the radio had been tuned to a short-frequency channel, someplace broadcasting local news. They were talking about preparations being made for a possible ruddy assault._

_Lawscale was doing the opposite of playing hooky. Somehow, that irritated Vriska more._

_She stepped out of the block and strode through the hallway, moving quickly but keeping her chin high to give the impression she was not rushing, she didn’t have anywhere to rush to, she just knew where she was going and wanted to arrive there swiftly. A blind woman wouldn’t have the time to discover any secret exits to the amphibiortress. Vriska only knew of one and she surely would not be telling Lawscale about it soon. So Lawscale would be using some sort of sanctioned exit, but would hope to pass through it in a surreptitious way, head low and color hidden so no guard would question her further. Oh, but Lawscale had the wrong skill set for that technique! It took Vriska two minutes flat to catch sight of a figure in a dark, slouching coat with improvised shoulder pads._

How can she be so professional and amateur at the same time?

_Vriska caught up to Lawscale quickly and wrapped one arm helpfully around her shoulders, offering a hand and quickly muttering, “Here, it’s just me, reach forward and grab my hand, Mother merciful, grab my damn hand...”_

_And Lawscale did, almost instantly, and now there was no longer a suspicious lone figure hobbling away from the Amphibiortress with no visible sign or blood color, but merely a proud, generous cerulean assisting her new cullee who needed help walking. Vriska and Lawscale let their feet fall into sync as they joined the crowd pouring out of the visitor’s exit, court supplicants and other riffraff not important enough to hold special invitation obscuring them as they trotted right off the palace grounds._

_“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Vriska whispered to Lawscale._

_“I have a plan. Go back to the palace and cover for me.”_

_“Nonsense, I’m coming with you.”_

_“I need you to explain my absence!”_

_“You’re trying to do things sneakily. You’ll be discovered instantly without someone to play your game,” Vriska explained. “You need a partner and you know me well enough that I won’t step on a single toe.”_

_Lawscale still wouldn’t admit what she was up to. Vriska just kept walking, her arm and hand firmly leading Lawscale on a perfectly linear path forward._

_“I’ll guess your plan, then,” Vriska said. “You heard word of eminent ruddy activity in a town within a day’s travel of your current location. Trading on your disability and latent sympathies, you’ll gain access to this cell and destroy it from the inside. Either this cell belongs to the Chimeric and it will all be over, or you’ll weasel your way into a position of trust and find his location. Does that sound about right?”_

_She could hear Lawscale grit her teeth. “I’m sick of hearing of all the trolls who die every night that we don’t stop this,” she said. “I can’t just sit there and do nothing.”_

_“Then let’s do something,” Vriska said. “I’ll make you a perfect criminal who they would be crazy to leave behind. Do we have a deal?”_

_Lawscale gripped Vriska’s hand a little tighter. “Thank you.”_

_“What are friends for?”_


	54. Double Crossers

_ It barely stung, once Sollux had the needle in his vein. It just ached slightly as he curled his hand like Trueshot had, draining ocher blood so it could serve a new purpose outside his body. Sollux tried to pass the time thinking over what he knew. He had to be efficient about this; the API still needed his skills. The scrutiny was starting to get harder than the work itself. For every subversive action Sollux took to help the Chimeric fulfill his last sensible and empathetic wish or whatever the fuck this was, he had to expend twice as much energy to hide it. _

_ Check the plan, review his progress. Sollux left his needle-arm still and tapped on a few keys to access his notes. Cosmetic disguises, gotta go to the underworld for those. A few prosthetic horns and colored lenses would at least last for a few days. Identity records, a piece of fucking cake. Sollux had crafted fake identities for two young jadebloods expected to begin their first tour of service in the caverns soon after his due date with the Chimeric. He even had a delay notification coded up to deploy if the Chimeric dragged his stupid feet about his date of cavern entry. Cavebreak stories had mountains of conflicting information, but the Benevole’s vague statement that tech didn’t extend into the caverns probably meant they would be clear if they passed the first blood scans. Sollux wouldn't be able to help him once he got inside, so the Chimeric would need to rendezvous quickly with his target rescue-ee and beg for her protection. _

Does that Sundance lady even know the Chimeric is coming for her? What if she’s gotten used to the caverns and won’t go?

_ The blood was the hardest part. The delivery system would be fine: just a little bubble of blood adhered to a person’s thumb under a layer of fake skin. So long as he labeled them clearly and made a few copies, the Chimeric and his backup should have no trouble getting through the scanners. But the blood itself was driving him insane. His initial plan had been to blend his own blood with Trueshot’s, but the color wheel simply wouldn’t comply, and he could find no proportion of sapphire and gold blood that would result in anything resembling healthy, normal jade. He had lost a few weeks banging his head against the wall upon realizing that. _

_ His new, adjusted plan was get the base of natural blood as close as possible and then add a couple of dots of synthetic protein dye. Blue or yellow alone wouldn’t be enough; the scanner would recognize it as a foreign blood caste with some color added. If he blended two castes into something unique that the scanner didn’t have in its database, and then got the color to match, he could trick it into letting the false sample through. They wouldn’t be able to find the dye without a set of laboratory tests taking a week or longer. _

_ But that meant Sollux was in the midst of blood trials, testing his concoction to make sure it wouldn’t be identified as either of its component parts. And if he ran out of blue blood for his tests, he had no good reason to ask for more. Sollux himself had as much time to bleed as he wanted, but it took a toll. A highblood like Trueshot gave four liters without even a twitch. Sollux gave one and felt ready to faint.  _

_ Turned out biology was a filthy hemoist. A desire to best his own body’s limits did more to bolster Sollux’s resolve to help the Chimeric than their complicated friendship. _

_ He took a dizzy breath and read over his list again. Cosmetic disguise. New IDs. Blood. The  _ fucking _ blood. Maps of the caverns don’t exist on the internet, too closely guarded to be digitized. The fucking  _ blood _. Was this going to work? And what would happen if it did? _

_ He turned to another screen and apparently moved a little too fast as his whole world spun. Shit, shit, shit, shit, he turned to check on the blood bag precariously hanging off of a repurposed cable organizer. Okay, that was full, that needed to get stopped up, like  _ now. _ He pinched the cable an inch away from his arm and pulled it off the needle. A few spurts of blood dropped on his arm and the floor, but he could clean that up. Then he hung the cable up higher, dangling from a hexcomb mainframe, so the rest of the golden fluid inside could drain into the bag. Now time to get the needle out _ — _ gently _ — _ and wrap the hole up. _

_ A video call started to ping on his computer. Sollux flung his fingers onto his keyboard and disabled his camera before answering. “Soulstar, what do you need?” _

_ “Suit up, we have to go give people hope.” _

_ Sollux pressed the gauze against the inside of his elbow, then raised his arm over his head, since he had read that slowed bleeding. “You mean stand around and look nice. We need the full Delegation for that?” _

_ “Compasse’s request.” _

_ Shit, the Compasse. Memories started to catch up with Sollux, about how the Compasse had requested the API’s official endorsement of her Inter-Caste Relations Reconciliation Proposal or whatever the fuck they had named it. Soulstar would do all the talking, reading from a script about how generous the Compasse was to give them an opportunity to show compassion to their fellow trolls. And he had to look the Compasse in the eye, knowing what he did about the Chimeric’s plans? _

_ “Can you… give me a minute? I’m not feeling too well.” _

_ “You need Molybden to give you a check-up?” _

_ And see all the half-healed dots on his arm from his struggle to catch up to a blueblood’s hemoglobin donation? “No thanks, I think it’s just some bad grubsauce. I’ll be there in fifteen.” _

_ “Thanks.” And Soulstar hung up. _

_ Fuck. Sollux was so fucked. But he didn’t have any time to think about how fucked he was as he wrapped a bandage around his inner arm. He imagined Lawscale giving him a light punch on the shoulder and some encouragement, calling him brilliant or clever or  _ something _. _

_ He only had enough time to be careful. And if he was careful, he’d make it through. _

 

* * *

 

As reluctant as pretty much everyone was to attend this meeting, Kanaya would admit to a small degree of comfort felt in seeing everyone’s faces again in a much better setting, Karkat’s especially. He had his normal pouty-scowly face again, unaltered by injury or foundation. He and Dave had always considered themselves each other’s ‘buddy’ when it came to putting up with Vriska-led meetings, but this time something about Dave seemed a little more frazzled, but in a happy way. Like carbonation bubbles dancing on the surface of a sweet beverage. Perhaps his ‘booming box’ had achieved its objective, whatever that was? If so, she was happy for him.

But he and Karkat had also stolen the loveseat that Rose and Kanaya liked best. Which sucked.

Vriska opened her mouth to say something, but Dave held out his hand in a T shape. “Time out, Vriska.”

“Seriously, Strider???????? Before I even call this to order?”

“Karkat and I have something to say.”

“And what might that be?”

“We wanna go last.”

“What?”

“You talk, and say everything you want to say, and then we’ll say our thing, and then we can all leave,” Dave said. “Y’all won’t want to miss this, I swear.”

Rose made a little curious noise next to Kanaya. She leaned over and whispered, “Is his announcement truly that worthy of attention?”

“Hm? I don’t know yet, I’m just intrigued by the use of ‘y’all.’ Dave had been doing so well suppressing his native tongue, so perhaps that is our indicator of importance for what he has to say?”

Terezi headed off Vriska’s frustration at someone else commandeering her meeting with an amicable, “Sounds like a plan to me, coolkid!” Then she turned to Vriska and said, “We’ll start with what we’ve found…”

The vile, overconfident smirk returned to Vriska’s face. “Right! That’s a very good place to start, Terezi, fifty points.”

“Why are points now being given in increments of fifty?” Kanaya wondered aloud. “Because that appears to be blatant favoritism?”

“How about we do some blatant explode-your-think-pan instead?” Vriska retorted. She then pulled out a book-shaped object and set it on a low table in the center of their loose little circle. The object proved to be an actual book, and a very old one, on the verge of falling apart. Fluttery paper bookmarks fringed the crumbling pages in a well-organized color scheme verging on aesthetically pleasing.

Karkat’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get that?”

“We were cleaning out Gamzee’s den, looking for Aradia’s timeboxes—which we  _ found,  _ thank you very much—and we also found this.” Vriska gave Karkat a wide smile, showing off every pointy tooth she possessed. “Can you tell me what it is, Kaaaaaaaarkat?”

Karkat rubbed his face with his hands, and Dave hopped in. “Hang on Vriska, I think you’re casting around some batshit fishhooks here, looking for a sucker to give you a chomp, but I see some kinda lizard shit on the front of that book, and correct me if I’m wrong, the only weirdo around here with a dragon fetish is Terezi.”

“Correction, I’m the only one who  _ admits _ to a dragon fetish,” Terezi said.

Dave paused and turned to Karkat. “Hang on,  _ do _ you have a dragon fetish?”

“Fuck no! And that is the least relevant topic we could somehow land on!” Karkat retorted. “Fine, yes, that’s some ancestor bullshit, wrapped up in a neat goddamn cover!”

“It’s specifically  _ Kankri’s _ ancestor,” Vriska pushed. Kanaya felt Rose sit up a little straighter next to her, so she placed her hand on top of her matesprit’s. Now was not a time to start stealing books in a flash. They needed more answers before Rose could claim full ownership of that historical document.

“We’re not mad, Karkat,” Terezi began.

“I’m mad.”

“Okay, Vriska’s mad, but I’m not! We just want to know where you got it.”

Karkat shot a stink-eye at Vriska, clearly bothered by their benevolent enforcer/malicious enforcer antics. “Okay, fine. Here’s something to freak your pan. Damara gave it to me.”

“Damara?”

“She had a lot of shit to say, and most of it was in her weird dialect that I don’t speak, but she said something to the effect of she would only help me if I didn’t ask questions, and that if Kankri ever found out about that book, she’d murder me,” Karkat explained.

“Where did Damara get it?” Terezi continued.

“She had it stowed in a chest in a hole in the ground in a memory. I don’t know more because I wasn’t allowed to ask questions, and even for the ones I did ask, I didn’t understand the answers.” Karkat seemed to remember something, and he added, “When she gave it to me, she tore a couple pages out of the center, but it looked like they were written in her blood color. She said that part was hers.”

Rose’s hand curled around Kanaya’s tightly, an excitement full of innocence and enthusiasm rolling through the connection. Kanaya smiled and patted their held hands to reassure her that there would be plenty of time to analyze the intrigue.

“Okay, we’re not going to get anywhere with Damara unless one of us speaks Eastern Bitch,” Vriska said.

“As opposed to Spider Bitch,” Dave quipped. Karkat snickered, and Dave’s cheeks grew proudly pink. 

“Hilarious! Man, I soooooooo love your input! It’s totally not juvenile at all!”

“The next question we have is,  _ when _ did you get this?” Terezi asked.

Karkat took a breath. “It was months ago, and yes, I went looking for Gamzee after I read it. When I read that thing, it made me feel like I understood the Chimeric’s perspective better, and he made the Mournful sound like a good person.”

“Maybe the Mournful was, but our Gamzee isn’t,” Terezi stated, though Karkat didn’t look convinced. “Can you share with the class how much is covered in the journal?”

“About three sweeps of his life,” Karkat said. “The Mournful gave it to him as his seventh wriggling day present, and the Chimeric was writing in it from both sides like a total fucking asshole. Apparently he cared more about a commitment to the double-beast aesthetic than anything rational that would help people read his stupid words in the first place.”

“So does the journal contain any more information about his titling day?” Kanaya spoke up. She had to admit to a selfish interest in that date, since she felt curiously certain that her memory of dancing as the Benevole came from that day.

“It’s jumbled up, since a lot went haywire after the titling ended and the Chimeric never really had time to write it all down,” Karkat explained. “But he talked about the people he knew, which I counted, it was like hundreds of trolls. And almost everyone shows up, except Aradia. I guess he never met her?”

“We’ll get all of that sorted out later,” Vriska said. “Hey Rose, you want to decide how much of this is worth putting in your huge fucking tome?”

Before Rose could snatch the book up with her free hand, Dave spoke up. “Hang on—Karkat, do you want that book back, or can Rose read it?”

Karkat’s eyebrows scrunched together for a moment, like he was confused Dave had even asked, but he nodded. “Sure. I mean, I’ve read it all. I don’t need it for anything el—”

And in a flash, Rose had the book in her lap. Still holding Kanaya’s hand, she nudged the dragon cover open and started skimming over the bright red text. Kanaya felt a little funny looking at it, imagining a place where a version of Karkat had never had reason to fear his own color—but that was Beforus, apparently.

“Alright, I guess Rose is volunteering to put all the information in that book with the rest of what we know,” Vriska said. “Surprising no one…”

Kanaya shot a glare at Vriska, communicating her opinion that Rose’s perpetual thirst for knowledge was endearing and clever and made her a more interesting person than a bitch who looked down on others’ interests! But in glare-form.

“Is there anything else you wanted to bring up about the book or whatever?” Dave asked.

“No, I think that’s all that we really needed to discuss. It’s going to be Rose’s responsibility to decide what we should do with all the juicy details in that journal. So what’s your story, Sir Cherrington?”

“That’s a new one,” Dave mumbled first, but then he sat up a little straighter and leaned forward. “Okay, Karkat and I are pretty sure there’s a ghost out there pretending to be our actual alive friend Karkat, and we don’t know why.”

Kanaya stared at Dave, his face passive, while Karkat beside him looked at his knees, like he was ashamed. Terezi and Vriska looked curious, and Rose somewhat surprisingly just kept reading.  _ Did Dave already confide in her, as a human familial structure thing? _

“What evidence do you have of that?” Terezi asked.

“There was a dream I had like two-ish weeks-ish ago with Karkat, and he looked really alive, and he acted like he was from our meteor.”

“Do you think it was a newly dead Karkat who didn’t know he was in a dreambubble?”

“No, because I was having a dream of Earth, and when I asked him about current meteor events, he answered like he knew what I was talking about. He didn’t get confused or question me on anything.”

“But then how did he trick you into thinking he was the real Karkat?”

“He basically asked I respect his privacy as he sorted shit out regarding any weird behavior, and… I did. So that’s it,” Dave said. Kanaya raised a doubtful eyebrow at him, but he pretty solidly ignored her.

“I theorized that it was a future Karkat,” Rose piped up, nose still buried in the journal.  _ Oh, she’s paying attention? _

“Yeah, I thought about that and decided it was horeshit since the bubbles have never done that before,” Dave told her. “But we do know of people who can try really hard and live through other memories as someone else. Remember what happened when we used a Feferi to re-enact Karmeric’s super big Moses moment?”

“You gotta remind me what a Moses is,” Vriska said.

“O Compasse, let the cullees go,” Dave quoted, and it was only marginally helpful. Kanaya at least knew which Feferi and which memory he was talking about now.

“Okay, so what about that?”

“Feferi got really into it. She made her eyes look like she was alive and everything. Her clothes, her speech, her height, all of that changed. What if someone is practicing being Karkat so much they can break out of memories and impersonate him?”

“Coolkid, I definitely agree that it’s weird that there’s a ghost in the dreambubbles trying so hard to be Karkat, but this isn’t as threatening as you think,” Terezi said. “This person is dead. Maybe they’ll play some tricks on us, replacing Karkat in some really fucked-up ways, but they can’t leave the afterlife, and even if they could, they can’t be Karkat in the physical world.”

Dave didn’t seem all that thrilled with Terezi’s explanation, folding his arms. “It’s a violation of trust and all. And what if they’re working with Gamzee or the Condesce or something, and they’re trying to get us to spill things about our battle plans?”

“Then we’ll just stop having battle plan discussions in dreambubbles?” Vriska said. “That hasn’t been an issue for nearly a year now.”

Karkat crinkled his nose at Vriska using the human term, but no troll saw fit to make a case out of it. Then Rose spoke up again. “We can use passwords.”

“Not more fucking  _ passwords _ ! I am sick to fucking death of trying to remember the right words that will let me talk to people that I need to talk to just because  _ they _ think it’s important to have conversations at the right time!” Karkat ranted, the biggest emotional reaction they had gotten out of him all conversation.

“There’s no need for any sort of over-complicated choreography such as we devised when attempting to maintain linear communication,” Rose continued. “We’ll just pick one set of call-response words that we use to verify someone’s identity if we don’t enter a dreambubble with them. A simple social convention to save us a large amount of mistaken identity grief.”

“How about we swap names?” Kanaya suggested. “So if you encounter a suspicious friend, you’ll ask for their name, and the correct answer will be to give the wrong name.”

“I think I get it,” Terezi continued. “So if I see Vriska, and I ask her what her name is, she needs to answer 'Rose,’ or I know she’s not the right Vriska!” Vriska turned up her nose at having her password name be Rose. 

“And you’ll know the other person is who they say they are because no one outside of this block knows we have implemented a password system,” Kanaya continued.

“So what are we gonna do, draw names out of a hat?” Dave asked. 

“How about we do something that we know won’t make anyone throw temper tantrums,” Vriska said. “Just swap in pairs. Terezi and me, Rose and Kanaya, Dave and Karkat. That’s your name buddy.”

Kanaya glanced at Rose, and Rose looked up from the book to meet it. There was some kind of twinkle in her orchid eye, something like she knew how silly this was, and she liked it. Something that reminded Kanaya of spinning around a ballroom with her and falling to the floor laughing and asking the question she had been burning to ask for so long. And she wanted to glow.

“I think we can manage that,” Rose said aloud.

Vriska wrapped up the meeting and everyone else stood up to go. Rose stayed put, and so did Kanaya. She had a feeling Rose would want to keep studying the Chimeric’s book a little longer.

But when the room was empty, Rose set the journal aside. And she looked at Kanaya again with a little more mischief in her eye. And her eyebrows started waggling.

…Kanaya liked where this was going.


	55. Mission Accomplished

Dave asked if Karkat wanted to hang out in Can Town after that meeting, but Karkat said he wasn’t up for it, and Dave got it. That was a weird bombshell Vriska had dropped about the secret ancient journal thing, and Dave knew Karkat had not expected that to come to light soon, if ever. It did drop a match on the kindling of Dave’s curiosity, so small talk as they walked back to Karkat’s block didn’t come easy.

“So I guess in dreambubbles your name is gonna be Dave? I think that works, but it feels kind of who’s-on-first to me. That’s an Earth joke from these super famous comedian dudes, John can probably rattle it off like it’s nobody’s business but the whole joke is that the baseball players have names that make it sound like the guy answering them is a fucking moron and he’s trying to make the asker repeat himself all over. It’s a pretty neat joke, been riffed and remixed to hell and back through all sorts of other mediums. That and the… the lady with the conveyor belt… Dammit, that one I’m out of my depth because like, I’ve seen the _reflections_ of it but I never saw the actual clip it’s all based on, I think it’s Lucille? The Lucille Show? She did a conveyor belt thing…”

It didn’t look like Karkat was feeling any better, not even as Dave misremembered the finest of Earth’s comedy. Well, he should take comfort in that, Karkat didn’t need another clown in his life. But as for what Dave was, he and Karkat were on the same page regarding… fuck, it was easier to call it the weird troll thing, they were sharing a quadrant, but he and Karkat had yet to call it anything official. And Dave didn’t want to give Karkat or himself an aneurism by pushing anything too fast.

He really just wanted Karkat to stop looking like someone had died.

“So… what was up with Damara?” Dave asked. “We’ve crossed paths a few times and she seems pretty friendly, even if we can’t understand a goddamn thing she says. It sounds like she saves her bitchy streak for the people who pretty rightfully pissed her off, and we’re not on her shit list. That’s a relief, huh?”

“I haven’t seen her since she gave it to me,” Karkat said flatly.

“Alright, cool. Cool, that works. Like, she’s got her ghost agenda too. But hey, if she had the thing, do you think she read it? Can she even read normal troll words?” A sudden realization hit Dave upside the head like a mis-thrown dodgeball. “Hang on, how can _Rose_ read troll words…”

“I don’t know if she read it or not. I don’t know anything about it that I didn’t tell the girls.”

“Hey, it’s okay dude,” Dave jumped on the souring tone in Karkat’s voice. “Damara’s crazy, and that journal is part of your family. Bloodline. Whatever. You’re allowed to do whatever you want with it, and you don’t owe Vriska and Terezi or me anything over it.”

Karkat rubbed his face with his sleeve. “I mean, I know that in my think pan, but the pump biscuit didn’t quite get the memo. And I know… getting that book was the start of me thinking Gamzee might be worth my time.”

“That’s not _your_ fault.”

“It kind of is. Whenever things got bad, I just remembered what the Chimeric had written, and how well he knew his Makara and that… _serendipity_ they had… and it made me believe if I just stuck it out, I’d find it.”

Dave had seen enough of Karkat’s movies to know what he meant by _serendipity_. It basically matched what humans considered true love. Dave didn’t want to think about Karkat sitting in the dark trying to find the good soul in someone who hurt him, but he opened his mouth and the wrong words spilled out.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Karkat slowed down and fixed Dave with a tired, almost suspicious look. “I thought this was… flushed?”

“It is! I mean, it’s that. Like. It’s gonna stay on that side of things, primarily.”

“Primarily?!”

“I just mean it like, we’re friends. We’re friends and we’re… trying to be the—the other thing. But I don’t want to lose that? Or make you feel that just because I like you, I can’t… I can’t listen to your feelings.” Dave floundered, concerned that if he didn’t say what he meant perfectly, he’d lose his shot forever. “Fuck, I think I’m awful at this, but I want to try. I really want to try because I think you’re worth it and please fucking stop me talking before I get into shampoo commercials and then the pop culture train is just never going to stop—”

“Fine, shut up!” Karkat barked, and he pressed a hand over Dave’s mouth for good measure. Dave blinked behind his shades, but he stopped talking, and Karkat smiled, and now Dave was smiling behind Karkat’s fingers. Could Karkat feel that? Fuck, he had to be able to feel that. Dave felt his right and left brain scism apart, each trying to tell him what he should do next: kiss Karkat’s palm, or lick it.

Karkat pulled it away before he could do either. “Okay, Dave Strider. I think I understand what you were talking about before you inexplicably mentioned shampoo. I just… don’t think it’s going to be easy for me. And I want you to understand that.”

“Absolutely. I want to be the one making it easier for you, even if it’s hard for me.” Dave raised his hands over his head like he was holding a large rectangle. “Boombox.”

Karkat gave him another little smile. “Your angular noise container has convinced me. C’mon.”

They were close to Karkat’s new room, but this was the first time Karkat had let Dave inside since he moved in. The place looked really similar to his old room layout-wise, save new and fewer posters for cinematic masterpieces. It had a slime pod and a table and chair and Karkat’s husktop, and very, very little else. Dave felt like the space was missing a lot of what made Karkat ‘Karkat.’ Maybe he’d see if Karkat wanted to hit the alchemiter after this.

“Let’s sit,” Karkat instructed, and he sat on the floor. Dave followed, cross-legged, until Karkat added, “Now turn around.”

“Uh…”

“Just do it.”

Dave complied, turning his back to Karkat and staring at an empty corner that looked like it should have a lamp or chair or bookcase or _something_. And then he felt something warm and solid press against him. _Karkat’s back_.

“Is this kinky? I think this is kinky.”

“This is not kinky, you hairy, shit-encrusted _ass_.” Karkat said, leaning a little harder against Dave, who leaned back into the pressure. “We’re not moirails, so we’re not going to be doing this in a tender fucking pale embrace. And I don’t know what my face will do when I talk about this and I want you to still like me after this conversation.”

“I’ll still like you, no matter what your face does,” Dave promised.

“Awesome. Let’s test that _later_. I’ll talk with you on the condition you don’t see me. Is that cool?”

What else was Dave supposed to say? If this was what it took to make Karkat comfortable… “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Then Karkat promptly didn’t say anything for a few minutes. They just leaned against each other’s backs. Dave counted rivets in the metal wall, waiting. Words bubbled up up inside him but it felt like if he said a single one, he’d ruin everything. He just had to wait it out. Let Karkat take the lead.

“…Earth culture is really secretive about journals too, right? That’s not a unique troll thing?” Karkat began

“Yeah. Your diary is where you put all your secrets and shit.”

“Okay, good. So you do understand why it’s a really huge taboo to read someone’s journal without their permission.”

“Yeah, I do. Totally. Definitely taboo,” Dave insisted, remember that he had copied a journal or two in his time. Maybe if he just deflected to pop culture, Karkat wouldn’t notice. “Like, lots of Earth tales describe people discovering true feelings after reading someone else’s diary or some shit, and then it gets invariably spread around school, and it’s pretty assholish.”

“Yeah… That’s definitely bothering me a bit. Vriska and Terezi just got to _read_ his feelings like that, and they’re kind of my feelings because a Karkat wrote them, even if he wasn’t me.”

“You felt like it was something you wrote?”

Karkat paused a little. “It’s kind of weird. The Chimeric writes a lot like Kankri.”

“No shit, really?”

“Yeah, like an over-educated, pompous piece of shit. Too many enormous words than I can reasonably blame on old-timey writing styles.” Dave felt Karkat’s back shake, a little like a soft laugh. “But he cared a lot, and he wrote… persuasively? Emotionally? And… it did affect me. I know what it feels like, to want to prove you’re more than what people say you are. He had this span of time where he was trying to become a Guardian—it was an impossible task and he wasn’t backing down, he couldn’t, or people would see him as weak, and… I remembered our session. That’s how I ran through Sgrub without sleeping a single wink, trying to keep everyone moving forward. The Chimeric didn’t sleep either, and he accomplished something amazing.”

“Being a Guardian was a big deal, huh?”

“The biggest. Highbloods were supposed to train for decades. Chimeric did it in half a sweep.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. And it got me thinking about so much, about everything, like some of it was about my friends and how much I miss them and how I wish we were all here, alive, and normal, but… do you remember what the Seafarer’s ghost said to me?”

“Which part?”

“That I’ll never know what made the Chimeric great.”

“He’s full of shit.”

“Take this seriously. Please.”

Dave didn’t want to say anything that could possibly legitimize what that stupid grownup fish had told them, but he nodded. “He knew a different Karkat. And you were right too, he was treating you like a Beforan and making a thousand assumptions.”

“Yeah,” Karkat said, a little unsure, like Dave’s nuanced statement surprised him. “But when I got his journal, I thought it might have the answer. Like it would tell me what the Chimeric did that was so special that I’m not doing. Half of it is a record of everyone he ever talked to for three sweeps, and the other half is what he felt about it. But I don’t know what I was supposed to get out of it. I _still_ don’t know what made him great, and I had his own fucking words in front of me. So what was I missing?”

“Didn’t you always think ancestral legacies were bullshit anyway? Highblood nonsense or whatever you called it?”

“They are—at least, for the rest of our species they are, there’s just no biological certainty in any of it. But it’s kind of obvious at this point that our twelve ancestors matter, and at least a few of our actions mirror the shit that they did.” Dave could hear resignation in Karkat’s voice.

“Yeah, so you don’t have to be the Karmeric either,” Dave said. “That’s Kankri’s shit, to follow him. So if you think about it, you should really only worry about what happened on Alternia. With Troll Jesus.”

“Isn’t that a misspelling of ‘jegus?’”

“No, Jesus is the guy jegus is a misspelling of. Your ancestor is the Sufferer, maybe it would be easier to worry about building on the shit he did.”

Karkat barked a little sarcastic laugh. “That’s no better. How do I find that part in me that’s able to stand up and inspire thousands of trolls to believe they’re not supposed to murder each other all the time? I could barely convince one troll to not murder people and even that was a filthy trick. I got a black eye and choked throat and didn’t save anyone.”

Dave felt his hair stand on end as Karkat so callously mentioned yet another injury from Gamzee. He didn’t want to think about it, just get past it and let the darkness be over.

Karkat sighed and kept talking before Dave got any bright ideas about how to distract him. “I guess that’s just the problem. I don’t feel jealous or nervous around Kankri, but both the ancestors, the Chimeric who represents everything I should be capable of or the Sufferer who created a legacy I’m supposed to shoulder… I’m just not good enough. I don’t know how I can measure up.”

“…I know how that feels,” Dave said, a little surprised that he did.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He refolded his legs and tried to shift away from Karkat, half wanting some distance when talking about this, but even that slight shift forward invited more of Karkat’s weight to press against him. Better to just sit up straight and stick it out.

“What do you mean?”

“How much did you see of my Bro, when you were using the Trollian viewport stuff?”

“Not much, really. I didn’t watch your childhood on Earth because I was kind of obsessed with the concept of despising John. Then I saw your lusus in the Medium when he started fighting Jack on LOWAS with Davesprite’s help, right before Jade prototyped her lusus and gave Jack the power of a First Guardian.”

“Okay. Good. Good…” Was it actually good? Did Dave feel better that Karkat hadn't seen enough to know what was going on, or did he feel worse because now he’d have to say it? “When you said that stuff about not measuring up, it made me think of him.”

“You kind of said something like that when you were in the hallway,” Karkat said. “About your bloodline. Is that related to any of this?”

“Yeah. I guess you didn’t see much of what he did. But he was kind of the greatest.” Words that Dave used to feel so comfortable saying felt like they cut his lips on the way out. “Master with bladekind. Taught me everything I know. Split the meteor headed for me in half, just with a fucking sword, to give me more time to get into the game. And none of that was ever a big deal for him. He was just… the best.”

“You don’t sound convinced about that.”

“Cuz I know I’m not him.” It was a half-lie, but he hoped Karkat would focus on the truth part. The truth would do him more good than chasing what Dave was hiding. “Terezi’s been helping me a bit, with sparring, but I keep thinking about…”

Dave took a breath, and Karkat prompted, “The final fight?”

“Yeah. I’m scared of showing up and not being good enough to protect my friends or win our right to be gods or whatever the fuck. I’m not as good as my Bro tried to make me, and what if someone I give a shit about pays for it?”

“Yeah,” Karkat agreed. “I feel like this fight is our deadline. We need to either have our shit together, pieced together from all these memories and quests, and save the universe… or we’re going to get tossed out like the garbage.”

Dave nodded, figuring Karkat could feel the motion of his neck even if he couldn’t see Dave. “And you feel like you’re not where you need to be because you weren’t good enough to learn what they were trying to teach you?”

“Right!” Karkat let out a small bark of laughter, dry and humorless. “God, you _do_ get it!”

“Yeah! And then you’re just left lying there on the ground and wondering why you’re such a fuck-up?” Dave’s mouth kept running, because of course it would. “And you give it everything you can to fight back and maybe prove you’re worth something but he keeps laying you out on the ground and telling you to get up again or else you’re worthless and he’s never satisfied with the beatdown unless he’s positive you tried to fight back even when you don’t want that and you just want to curl up in your room and he won’t _let you_ —”

“Woah, Dave— _Dave_!”

The closing feeling in his throat finally managed to cut him off, and Dave clamped his jaw shut to stop the flood out of him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He blamed Rose, stirring up the sediment stuck on the bottom of his subconscious. He blamed Gamzee, for hurting Karkat and making him into a mirror that reflected something Dave didn’t want to acknowledge. He blamed himself for making this all about him for the six hundredth time.

He should be blaming his Bro.

He was kind of starting to.

“...Dave?” Karkat said again.

“I’m… good,” Dave managed. “I’m good.”

“You just said some shit that sounded like the exact opposite of good.”

“I know. I’m sorry. The thing about the stuff that… that just happened… is that I’m still working that out.” Dave took a deep breath. “And I think if we poke any deeper we’ll be quadrant-smearing, or something.”

Karkat was a little too stiff for comfort. Nineteen thousand more fucks were in order, did Dave fuck this up and engender such strong cuddle-pity in Karkat that they couldn’t be human-style boyfriends anymore?! Wouldn’t it be just Dave’s luck if he lost his chance to smooch Karkat before they even discussed smooching?! He tried to pick up with the talking again, to see if he could put a bandaid on this disembowelment. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’ll sort it out, I promise. I just want you to be okay. If I can focus on you, it’s easier for me to keep it together.”

He still wasn’t moving, so Dave pulled out a big, bluffing gun. “If we’re both still alive at the end of this... I’ll tell you everything?”

Now Karkat made a kind of exasperated sound, reaching around Dave’s side. His hand touched Dave’s elbow, and then kind of batted at it. He grumbled, “Fuck, Strider, just—gimmie—!” Dave moved his arm closer to Karkat’s reach, and the troll’s warm hand moved further down until it grabbed onto Dave’s. They had to adjust the geometry a bit, but in a minute, they figured it out.

And now Dave had his fingers threaded together with Karkat’s. He pressed his lips together and swallowed, trying not to cry. He wanted to be hugging Karkat instead, but he realized what Karkat was afraid of when it came to making stupid, ugly faces at a moment like this. Hand holding kind of felt like more than Dave deserved.

“I’d like to bestow on you one multi-purpose Vantas-brand ‘fuck you’ to whoever or whatever made you feel like you described,” Karkat said. “Just so you know how opposed I am to anyone who makes you feel like you’re not amazing.”  
  
Dave snorted. “Damn, that’s a precious commodity. Gotta keep the flavor seal fresh on that in case I ever experience a shortage of fuck-yous in the future.”

“I mean it, you moron.”

“Why are you calling me a moron if you want me to feel good about myself?”

“You speak fluent Karkat by now. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

“True.”

Dave felt Karkat shift again, like he was getting ready to stand, but he stayed on the ground. “I think that’s enough feelings for two people who swear they’re flushed for each other,” Karkat said.

“Oh, okay. Um… Cool?”

“Don’t move yet, I have one more thing to say,” Karkat announced, and Dave froze. “I was just thinking about how… it meant a lot to me that you stayed out in the hallway for me. It was a big gesture to show you cared, and it… helped. Especially when you referenced the romcoms; as corny as those movies are, they’re still beautiful and it helped me see what you were trying to say when you sent me nearly three hundred unrelated messages.” Dave felt Karkat’s thumb brush the side of his hand lightly. “Maybe I still don’t understand _why_ you like someone as messed up as me. But I don’t have any doubt in my pan that you do.”

Dave couldn’t move. His heart felt like a rubber band wrapped around a half dozen pegs, like giddy joy and deep pity and wobbly confusion and incomprehensible rage and _umami_ , the fifth emotion, and a couple others he couldn’t name. He had a smile on his face and tears in his eyes and a firm grasp on Karkat’s hand.

“G-Good,” Dave managed. “Good. Mission accomplished.”


	56. Betrayal and Blacklists

_The bar smelled like criminal activity. Or perhaps, criminal was the wrong word… Terezi spent a little time just breathing deep through her nose to try and place this intention in the air. Nothing about the occupants or the collective scent of the soporsale hive communicated an intention to harm. But there was a lot of resentment in the air. More than just the arrangement of tables and decor and trolls who wouldn’t face each other, even when speaking to a friend, this place catered to those who regretted their lot in life. Terezi could feel it leaching into her bones, making her remember all the things she wished she had or hadn’t done, or the things that had and hadn’t been done to her._

_Selfishness, that was the word. This bar smelled like selfishness._

_She and Prospera had entered a few minutes apart, Terezi first to a table, and then Prospera to the bar. She had her back turned to Terezi, close enough to eavesdrop but distant enough to be a stranger. There was some comfort having someone at her back, though, even if two sweeps ago she would have expected this person to stab her in it. But, Prospera had been so helpful so far. Her funny eyes could see everything Terezi needed, and then Terezi knew what to do with what Prospera saw. They had arrived in this town, picked up a small rentblock, and studied the messages circulating around announcing that the ruddies were here and recruiting. Terezi sensed their unique rhetorical slant and realized her hopes that this was the Chimeric’s cell were dashed. But, she answered the calls anyway, almost like responding to a personal ad:_ frustrated tealblood seeking like-minded believers. Ready to travel. Able to meet discreetly.

_The veiled responses had led them to this bar, where Terezi was to play the bait and Prospera was to play backup, and now they needed someone to show up. In Terezi’s experience with similar criminal organizations, the ruddies were probably already here, watching her and trying to decide what they should do. Terezi just sipped a water and left her eyes closed behind her shades, breathing deep. She could do this. She had help. She needed to end this._

_“You’re looking lonely over here,” a voice addressed her._

_Terezi tilted her face away from the voice, a demure little habit she had picked up to avoid trying to look someone in the face and missing. “I’m actually hoping to meet someone,” she said._

_“Mind if I sit until they show up? Buy you a drink?”_

_“If it’s all the same, could you buy me a snack? It’s been some time since I had something nice to eat.”_

_“Fuck, same,” the voice said, sitting down and waving for someone to bring some baked salted knots. It sounded like a man, and Terezi took a few deep sniffs and sensed teal in his clothes. He had tall, symmetrical, up-pointing horns and a casual attitude, mismatched to his caste. “You been traveling?”_

_“Just arrived two nights ago, and I have further to go. Do you travel around? Who makes your arrangements?”_

_“I’ve got a few friends, we make most decisions on where to move by committee.”_

_“Where’d you find friends like that?”_

_“You’ll need to buy_ me _a drink if you want me to tell you.”_

_“Gladly.” Terezi slipped a caegar onto the table. “Pick anything you like.”_

_The man took the caegar and flipped it between his knuckles. Terezi heard the metal and bone connect with tiny, muted clicks. “So generous,” he said. “I think you might be hitting on me.”_

_“Sorry, but no.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“My red quadrants are functionally filled.”_

_“What do they think of you being here?”_

_“One knows I’m here, and knows she can’t stop me,” she said. “The other left me, and I want to win him back.”_

_“Or hook up with me to piss him off.”_

_“That will end far worse for you than me.”_

_“What makes you say that?”_

_“He’s a bit hot-headed and has made quite a name for himself doing terrible things to those who stand in his way.”_

_The man grew still. A server arrived with the baked salt knots, and Terezi took a ravenous bite in accordance with her persona. Once she swallowed, the man made a decision to keep talking. “See, I_ think _I know the guy you’re talking about. Kinda on the young side, puff hair, dumb horns?”_

_“That matches his description, yes.”_

_“Okay. Cool. Just gotta ask, which side of the grid was he on with you?”_

_“Flushed. I couldn’t hope to compete with his moirail in a thousand sweeps.”_

_“...No kidding,” the man said slowly._

_“You don’t believe me, do you?” Terezi asked._

_“First of all, let’s see how many of this guy’s friends you know. Have you heard of the Deadbeat?”_

_Terezi smirked. “I think I’m speaking with him.”_

_“Clever.”_

_“Thank you. And I happen to know you were one of the passengers of his first ship, so you’re also one of the oldest followers of his organization.”_

_“This is kind of why I’m surprised that he’s never even mentioned having a flushed relationship with anyone. At all. Ever. Let alone you, whoever you are.”_

_“I’ll admit to a little bit of exaggeration to get your attention and make sure we were on the same page,” Terezi said. “We’ve never shared a quadrant, but our mutual friend is a fan of mine. I’ve got a few hundred letters that he sent to my office from when he was growing up. He learned how to write that manifesto of his from studying me.”_

_“Well, aren’t you all hoity-toity, having an ‘office’ and being his hero,” the Deadbeat snarked. “Any chance you’ve got some evidence to back up your claim?”_

_Terezi had been expecting that. She had chosen to bring her favorite letter with her: the Chimeric’s response to the Eastern Drought Trials, sent to her in six total parts. She figured it showed the Chimeric’s feelings in the most compelling light, since he felt the need to send five complimentary addendums to his glowing review of her performance._

_The cherry-scented letter slid across the table and into the Deadbeat’s hands, and he started reading it over. “...Okay, damn, I guess he’s_ never _had any chill.”_

_Terezi laughed. “You can say that again. He sent me letters for a little more than three sweeps, telling me all about my work that he’s read and what he thought about it. I prided myself on fighting the system from within, using legal decisions to advance the cause of hemoequality.” She took a breath. “Now I want to fight from the outside.”_

_“But why? You’re a Vigilant, and if our guy liked you this much, you’re a damn good one. Why throw that all away to chase him?”_

_She reached up and took her shades off to show the Deadbeat her burned-out eyes. She heard his intake of breath and smelled his flinch._

_“Because I can’t keep this up much longer. Someone’s going to find me out, and then I’ll be culled for the rest of my life. Things are only going to get harder from here on out, for him and me. It’s time for us to fight on the same side.”_

_The Deadbeat didn’t say anything for a while. Terezi heard his chair squeak and the paper shift as the Deadbeat read the notes over again and sighed. He actually called down a server and spent Terezi’s caegar on a drink for himself before he answered her. “Gotta say, I’m kind of surprised… at all this. You realize he doesn’t talk about you, at all? I get the sense he probably did when he was in polite company, but now…”_

_“Things are different. I understand,” Terezi told him, but it did still sting. The academic in her burned with something like jealousy, imagining that he might still use her arguments without credit to lead his armies. The mentor in her remembered the day after the news broke and Terezi felt nothing inside of her but guilt._

_“And I know your situation is pretty terrifying, but you gotta think of this from my perspective too. What the fuck am I going to do with a blind woman? Like, you’ve probably got a few tricks up your sleeve to help you fake sight, but I can’t grubsit you.”_

_“I don’t need grubsitting.”_

_The Deadbeat made a noncommittal noise. “I can’t send you into a war zone. You’ll get yourself killed, or worse, get someone competent killed.”_

_Her cheeks started to burn. “_ Someone _competent?!”_

_“Just laying out some facts here!”_

_“You listen to me, I am_ more _than competent!”_

_“At what? Resolving petty disputes? Writing laws? We have our laws written, and we all understand it without the help of a legal expert. And anything else, there’s just no reason to have you do it when someone with half your brains but two more eyes can do it better.”_

_Terezi let one hand curl into a fist, above the table where Deadbeat could see it. “Your decalogue orders that you not make assumptions about a troll’s value.”_

_“We know that’s within reason. I have the well-being of my Tribe to look out for and we can’t take on dead weight. You’re a culling case, you said so yourself. Just choosing to be on our side can’t bring your sight back.”_

_The Deadbeat’s words dug into Terezi’s heart like the edge of a broken sword. She practically wanted to hold her chest, or her ears, or whatever it took to expel the pain of his words. And she realized, for all the stress and fear of concealing her disability, no one had ever_ called _Terezi blind to her face like this. Prospera was euphemistic and sarcastic, but they both knew the lack of sight barely slowed her down, and all the young trolls Terezi had taught to play her game were sensitive to the injury. But when the Deadbeat spoke about her, and called her useless, dead weight, incompetent, irrelevant, it cut new wounds into her. She had to grit her teeth to keep tears from spilling._

_“I promise you… I can pull my weight,” Terezi kept her voice just shy of snarling at him. “And if you won’t accept me in your Tribe, let me travel with you until you can… pawn me off on another. I don’t care which I join.”_

_“Yeah, I guess I have been an asshole to you, haven’t I?” the Deadbeat said. “But the problem is, there’s one more snag. And it’s the fact that you are the Vigilant Lawscale.”_

_“So you can read, congratulations.” She had to spit insults to keep it together._

_“Yeah. You’re blacklisted.”_

_“…What?”_

_“You heard me. Before the split, the new commanders got taken aside and we got a little announcement about how to spot imperial spies. And there were some generalities there, like ways to sense it in their speech, and then we got the blacklist, which is exactly one name long. You are forbidden from joining the resistance.”_

_The last straw broke and Terezi felt a tear spill from her eye. “But how could he—”_

_“Just think about it for a second. You probably love thinking about stuff, since you can’t see shit.” The Deadbeat leaned closer to Terezi and lowered his voice slightly. “You’re tailor-made to be a snitch. You’ve got your history and your trials to prove you already agree with us. You’ve got a disability to convince us why you hate the Empire so much. And you’ve got Vigilants ready to answer your call when you tell them where the rebel forces are. So since not every Tribe was well-versed in your legal career before joining up with this shit, our brave leader told us you might try and pull something like this.”_

_He leaned back and kept talking. Terezi had a sense he was gesturing at her with a hand. “And you know, those scars look really painful, definitely added some real shock to your story. Have they always been like that or did you add a little makeup to get it looking nastier?”_

_Terezi could barely breathe. The threat hanging over her head that only her greatest enemies and trusted friends held… “He told you I was blind?”_

_She smelled a white smile widen on the Deadbeat’s face. “I dunno. Which would be worse? If he spilled your secret to strangers or couldn’t be bothered to say more than a sentence about you?”_

_A barstool behind Terezi scraped on the floor and the smell of steel cut the air. Prospera’s voice followed her blade’s slice. “That’s enough of that, Deadbeat. Your debt is overdue.”_

_“Shit,_ you _?!_ _Fuck—” The Deadbeat tried to back up his chair, crashed into another table, and some shouts and screams passed through the bar as people noticed the woman with the knife._

_Then Deadbeat performed a shrieking whistle and panic broke loose. A door toward the back of the soporhive crashed open. Someone threw a heavy metal container that started to hiss. Another threw glass that shattered. And the screaming continued, and furniture crashed together, and Terezi couldn’t move, she couldn’t smell anything but dark, stormy gray, she just pulled her arms over her head and curled in on herself—_

_A hand took hers, cool and familiar and Terezi grasped it instantly, trusting it was a lifeline. The hand pulled her up out of her chair and close to a body who braced her as they ran. Other people ran too, Terezi heard it in their footsteps and their screams and in the smoke filling the air, turning everything gray, blank and dark and imperceptible gray. She couldn’t tell body from block, and the only anchor to all of reality was the hand and the person it belonged to._

_The first clean breath hit Terezi’s mouth first, and then her nose as she inhaled deeply. The air carried the smell of pavement, storefronts, sky with stars, and all the trappings of a normal night. Terezi’s guide did not let her savor it as they picked a direction and walked, purposeful and not so fast they would be suspicious. Terezi closed her eyes in case that would help them hide. Did she even have her shades with her, or were they discarded on the bar’s dining surface? Even closed, her eyes burned again, so she blinked, and then there was heat on her cheeks…_

_“Lawscale?” she heard Prospera’s voice, close and confident, pulling her away from the danger._

_“I’m fine,” Terezi answered, but she knew the heat on her cheeks was wet too, tears, she was crying, crying in front of Prospera…_

_Prospera didn’t acknowledge the tears yet, just continuing to lead Terezi down the streets, toward somewhere that might be safe. Traditional reinforcementers would be sure to arrive on the scene soon. The ruddies might mow them down and there’d be more death in this war, and it was Terezi’s fault, and she couldn’t stop it, and the Chimeric didn’t even trust her enough to let her join it…_

_Even with Prospera’s lead, Terezi stumbled, and they had to stop. Her knees shook almost as badly as her hands._

_“That bastard,” Prospera’s voice said. “That repugnant moron, he’s not worth a moment of your time, insolent and stupid, that stain of a troll isn’t worth one-tenth of you—”_

_“It’s not about him,” Terezi told her, keeping her ability to speak even as she felt her face falling apart. “It’s about the Chimeric, his order—”_

_“Because he knew you would do this?”_

_Terezi pressed her hands to her face, just to keep Prospera from seeing it, whatever it looked like now. “I can’t reach him anymore. He’s too far, he won’t listen and he didn’t even give me a chance to speak. This was the last thing I could think of to try and stop this and there’s nothing else to do—”_

_“Hush,” Prospera interrupted her. Her hands moved to support Terezi’s elbows, and then slide down to still her shaking hands. “The Vigilant Lawscale that I know does not talk like that. We’ll regroup and try again.”_

_Terezi couldn’t stop crying, but she made herself nod. The disgraced Marquise Prospera took her jacket and gave it to Terezi to wear like a hood, to help hide her eyes. They walked their route to the rented block, Terezi clinging to Prospera’s hand, and perhaps she just imagined it, but Prospera gripped back._

_They did arrive back at the block, but when Terezi had her face rinsed and the two had their outerclothes hung for the day, she couldn’t bring herself to ‘regroup.’ Prospera stood before her, faith burning so bright within her that Terezi could smell it, and she didn’t say another word. She pressed her forehead to Prospera’s, slid her arms around the other, and let everything she had tried so hard not to feel for nearly two sweeps spill out._


	57. Detective Work

Vriska’s shift in focus amused Terezi to no end. After getting her claws on the Chimeric’s journal and reading through it before surrendering it to Rose, all of Vriska’s pretenses about ‘preparing for the final fight’ and ‘staying focused on what really matters’ flew out the metaphorical transparent wall fixture. When Terezi asked her about it, Vriska slickly explained herself, “Well, we’re in so deep with Beforus already, we need to reach the ending and give the team closure. And since we have the timeboxes back, we can time-travel around the new session and basically make things happen however we want.”

And Terezi beamed, fighting down cackling at this reversal of opinion. Sometimes, Vriska had so little self-awareness Terezi wanted to bust her gut laughing. But, the journal had contained a single line that ensnared Vriska’s attention, and frankly, Terezi’s too.

_“I have seen the face of the troll who will end my life.”_

Terezi had a theory that specific detail only got to Vriska so badly because it mirrored how Mindfang knew who would be her eventual end, but the result was, Vriska suddenly cared about the Chimeric’s last stand. They made plans to divide and conquer: Terezi would find the bubble and Vriska would find Aradia, and then they’d walk through the memory as slowly as possible to find out how everything went down.

Terezi did eventually find the lookout point, though she had to use the scent of Dave’s upturned stomach as her memory point which was something she had hoped to never experience again, and from there she descended the lookout, down through some forest, and into the clearing. She smelled tall, powerful trees, an open grassy expanse, and there were so many animals and so many trolls…

“Hey!!!!!!!!”

She turned toward the voice and smiled at the undeniable presence of Aradia. That much red should come with a warning label, letting everyone know that Terezi was going to flood this bubble drooling over her.

“Who are you?” Vriska asked.

“Vriska,” Terezi answered.

“You mean Terezi, right?” Aradia added.

“It’s an inside joke, don’t worry about it.” Vriska waved Aradia’s concern away. “We have discovered so much more about the Chimeric’s story, and the most important part is, he knew he was going to die here.”

“Like this was an elaborate suicide plan?”

“More like he had a prophecy and he knew this battle was where his luck ran out. We got ahold of his journal, and he specifically states he knew who was going to kill him, roughly three sweeps before it happened.”

“Another point of note is, Karkat got the Chimeric’s journal from Damara,” Terezi brought up. “Any chance you can ask her how she got it?”

“I can definitely try! My dancestor and I are on pretty good terms, but I know she keeps secrets from a lot of people. It will all depend on if she intended for the Chimeric’s journal to get passed around when she gave it away.”

“Worth a shot,” Vriska said. “Now, let’s get this memory started! Terezi, last time you were here, what did you and Dave discover?”

“The Chimeric had his forces in a ring, and he was surrounded by the Huntsman’s animal army. Huntsman and Chimeric step toward each other, and we think they start talking, but the Chimeric says something and the Huntsman shoots him. The First Guardian, hanging around nearby, teleports the Chimeric to parts unknown, and the Mournful… snaps.”

“Okay, good start. What I really want to do is hear what they said to each other.”

Vriska took some steps around the clearing, and Terezi followed, sensing the weird memory-smoke start to coalesce into figures: one in a crimson shirt nearly drowned in the blood of other castes, and one on a tall, proud hoofbeast, with a crossbow pointed forward. Smelling these imprints was pretty easy, but Terezi could never get good definition on them. She had a feeling they would look insubstantial to anyone with sight, too.

“So the Huntsman chased the Chimeric here, to crush him… isn’t it kind of odd that the fighting force here is so small?” Vriska asked.

“Well, the Chimeric didn’t bring everyone.” Terezi passed behind the Chimeric’s shadow, and stopped for a moment. “Um, he’s wearing a bag! Is that relevant to anything?”

Aradia’s candy red sparkles flitted around Terezi as Vriska sauntered up in a more mundane way. “It looks heavy,” Aradia noted.

“Are they supplies?” Vriska asked.

“Supplies that he kept on his person, so they were probably important,” Terezi tried to sniff closer, but she couldn’t get anything more than the weighty paunch of the leather bag. She couldn’t lick the shadow either.

“Okay, good to note. Good clue…” Vriska stepped away from the Chimeric, toward the no man’s land between him and the Huntsman. “Why can’t we make them talk to each other?”

“I don’t think anyone present here was close enough to this part of the memory to hear what they said,” Aradia answered. “I only think I can make them go through the motions, based on what I learned from Terezi and Dave’s first experience of this memory.”

“Give it a shot, then. I want to see the chain of events for myself.”

Vriska stepped out of the line between them, and Terezi joined her. Aradia’s deliciously red-coated arms lifted slightly, and the shadows in the bubble started to move. The Chimeric took some steps forward, so did the Huntsman, then the bolt fired and struck. The Mournful rushed to his moirail, the First Guardian made the Chimeric vanish, and then the Mournful started running toward the Huntsman, who… pulled on some straps on his legs, fell to the ground, and let his horse run away.

“Hang on, that’s weird,” Terezi stopped the memory. “I hadn’t realized how weird this was before. Why didn’t the Huntsman run?”

“Run where?”

“Anywhere! I know Beforans never had subjugglators or any inherent fear of purplebloods, but when a troll _that_ angry is running at you, wouldn’t you at least try and save your own hide?”

“Good point,” Vriska said. “Aradia, can we play it again?”

“Sure thing.” Aradia jumped the memory back a few seconds, and Terezi followed Vriska closer to the Huntsman’s half of this confrontation.

The memory started again, steps forward, steps forward, and then the shot— “Hang on!”

“What is it this time?” Vriska asked.

“Sorry, just… half a second back. There’s something weird here.”

“Okay, I can do that.” The black-and-blue crossbow bolt flew in reverse, back up to the weapon that fired it. And Terezi let all her air out in a big whoosh, preparing to sniff as closely as she could at the perplexing scene before her. There was a flash of something she couldn’t place, something she needed to understand…

Aradia had to play that tiny fragment memory three more times for Terezi to pinpoint exactly what was bothering her. “There’s a flash! On the crossbow, right before it fires, something flashes! Vriska, what can you see, _right_ before it fires?”

Aradia played it one more time, and now that Vriska was looking in the right place, Terezi smelled her jaw drop. “Oh my god. Oh, fuck—the Huntsman never fired!”

“How does that work?” Aradia asked.

“His finger is off the trigger the whole time, and when the bolt fires, the string-part doesn’t snap closed! There’s a flash instead—psionic power!” Vriska jabbed a finger toward Aradia. “ _You_ were the one who fired!”

“Me!? But I wasn’t there!”

“Damara’s ancestor, same difference! The Huntsman didn’t intend to shoot, you forced his hand!”

“But why?” Aradia asked.

“Maybe you thought the situation was getting out of control, and that the Chimeric needed to die,” Terezi took up the explanation, reveling in the mystery at hand. “You found this memory because you had a part in it, didn’t you? To serve as the Huntsman’s backup and intervene if necessary?”

“That could be true, but I don’t understand why the Lodestar would make that choice,” Aradia said.

“Lodestar?”

“Oh—I’ve been hanging around this memory and finally caught the thread of what my title was on Beforus.” Aradia smiled. “And it doesn’t bother me at all that you didn’t investigate that closely enough to find it out yourself.”

Vriska paused. “That sounds… sarcastic?”

“It’s not,” Aradia said, but Terezi could smell a face-splitting smile. Maybe she was doing it to fuck with Vriska, because even after a sweep and a resurrection she might still like playing some pranks…

“Could you tell us about why the Lodestar might make the crossbow fire without the Huntsman’s consent?” Terezi prompted.

“I can only think of her taking that action to protect him, and as we’ve seen in this memory, he dies. Like, brutally.”

“Maybe she didn’t take into account the fucking murderclown who would lose his shit after the Chimeric died?”

“Haaaang on,” Terezi held up her finger, starting to feel like something of a scratched record repeating that phrase. “I think the sequence of events is important here. The Mournful didn’t snap until after the Chimeric vanished. Just hurting him wouldn’t be a bad strategy, because the Mournful would have stayed close the injured Chimeric, on defense. But the Chimeric disappeared, and _that_ made him lose it. The Lodestar couldn’t have predicted that.”

“So where did the First Guardian send him?” Aradia asked.

“I don’t know…” Terezi stepped back. “Try letting it go again?”

Aradia obliged, and let the memory continue. Terezi could hear the bolt strike and the Chimeric fall, but something else happened in the Huntsman’s vicinity. He dropped his crossbow, raised his hands next to his head, and seemed to concentrate for a moment. Terezi turned away to match it with the events on the other side of the clearing. Shortly after the Huntsman raised his hands to his temples, the Chimeric vanished.

_He communed with the First Guardian._

She held off on that revelation at first, turning back to the Huntsman to smell him reaching down beside his legs and pulling two cables. A burst of leather straps released his legs and he started to fall to the side, bracing with his arms to fall safely. And then his hoofbeast ran away.

“Why didn’t he stay on the hoofbeast?” Terezi asked.

“Good point,” Vriska said. “And it’s kind of obvious that the Huntsman used the First Guardian to send the Chimeric away, so what I also want to know is, why didn’t he use the First Guardian to make the Mournful or the rest of his enemies vanish, too?”

“When Tavros and I used to strategize for FLARP sessions, he told me a little about how his powers worked,” Aradia said. “He says he helps convince animals to do things that are good for them, as well as him. So, there is a possibility that he couldn’t convince the First Guardian that it was a good idea to make everyone disappear. And maybe he let his hoofbeast go to ensure it survived the fight.”

“I guess that’s a good explanation for why the Huntsman couldn’t just god-mode his way through this fight, but I still don’t understand why he would leave himself a helpless cripple on the ground and not stay on the animal that was running away from the fight.”

“He could be sending the hoofbeast to someone,” Aradia said.

“Was it to the Lodestar?” Terezi asked.

“No, the hoofbeast didn’t come to me when you and Dave first helped me with the memory.”

“Okay, let’s follow the damn hoofbeast,” Vriska ordered, and she saw fit to flash into God Tier clothes so she would have some pixie wings to help her out in the chase. Terezi used the blueberry-orange beacon ahead of her to follow the right path, kind of glad she had that to use as a guide instead of an old hoofbeast. Aradia brought up the rear, and Terezi could feel she was still a little excited. Maybe sleuthing out the ancient past like this reminded her of exploring ruins. Terezi might try and actually remember some ruins, maybe from LOTAF, to ‘give’ to Aradia as a thanks for helping.

The trail through the forest wound around the landscape, switching back and forth and raising in elevation. Terezi would have whipped out her rocket wings long ago if those were any good at fluttering in place, instead of swooping around dramatically. Probably would have been a better plan to let Vriska follow the hoofbeast the long way, and then Terezi would rocket directly up to her. Still, at least Terezi didn’t have to sweat as a dream projection, so long as she remembered not to. Useful little trick.

The path gradually leveled out, and Terezi started to get a very strange feeling in her stomach. This was familiar. This was the lookout point where she had found Lawscale’s ‘groove’ and first watched the battle below unfold. And she had felt Prospera’s presence there too, so did that mean…

The memory-beast slowed its run and stamped its feet nervously, right beside the point where Terezi had been standing.

“The hoofbeast was for us!” Vriska crowed, touching down on the ground. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I think I realize what this was!”

“What?!” Even as she had the power to not sweat, she couldn’t stop her heart from beating faster.

“This was another double psychic reach-around!” Vriska couldn’t stop her excited ramblings. “This is so cool, it’s where a troll with powers like mine controls a troll to use _their_ powers! The last time I did it was… Uh… Okay, the last time I did it doesn’t matter, but this explains the order of events down there!”

Aradia touched down and stepped a little closer. “Okay, so what was your ancestral self up to?”

“I mean, I think I know what happened—”

“Hang on, maybe you can just _know_.” Terezi interrupted Vriska before she started, taking hold of her shoulders and scooting her a few feet back and to the left. “This is where she was standing. So, Aradia, if you can let the memory play through one more time, and then see if you can come back up and meet us?”

Aradia obliged, taking flight off of the lookout and then taking place in the sky above the fight. She spread her arms one more time, and the distant smudges of trolls beneath her slipped back into their ‘starting’ positions. Terezi sniffed at Vriska a little, trying to see if she was changing at all.

“I can feel you sniffing.”

“So? I can feel you staring,” Terezi bluffed. “Stare at the battle.”

Vriska had apparently been looking Terezi’s way, so she huffed and re-focused. Terezi smelled the little mostly-red blur separate from the rebel soldiers. Then the brown Huntsman-like smudge. They talked and talked, silent at this distance, but there was clearly a conversation happening.

Then the bolt fired, and the Chimeric fell. Terezi turned to examine Vriska, and while she couldn’t tell if her sister’s clothes had changed, she had her arms raised beside her head and eyes squeezed shut, like she was focusing as hard as she could. The rest played out as expected: the First Guardian made the Chimeric disappear, the Huntsman fell from his hoofbeast, the Mournful advanced on and attacked him, and in a minute, the hoofbeast arrived at Terezi and Vriska’s lookout.

When Terezi was about to make some comment about Vriska orchestrating yet another conflict to go her way, Vriska interrupted by moving forward. She took hold of the hoofbeast, hupped herself up, and then lowered a hand to Terezi. Terezi felt like she needed to take it, like there was no time to lose, but she hesitated, and as she did, Vriska gradually pulled her hand back too.

“Okay, I think I got a tad carried away there,” Vriska admitted. The phantom steed dissolved under her, and with fucking fairy wings, she alighted on the ground.

“No, it’s cool,” Terezi stuck her hands in her pockets. “So… learn anything cool?”

“I mean, I’m still embarrassed by how weak Prospera’s own powers were. A maneuver like that took nearly _all_ of her effort! And the Huntsman is a lowblood, not even that far away from her physically, and the commands she used weren’t complicated, just big.”

“But what did you actually do?”

“Let me tell Aradia too. She’s incoming.”

Terezi shuffled to the side to give Aradia more landing room, a little disappointed in herself for having weird feelings intense enough to distract her from the presence of _red_. Like, she and Vriska were calling each other moirails and everything. Maybe it would just take a little while for it to stop giving her pale vapors at the worst times?

“So, was that helpful?” Aradia asked.

“Yes, very helpful. Prospera was using her powers on the Huntsman. Right after the crossbow fired, she took control and used him to use the First Guardian.”

“Do you know where the Chimeric got sent?”

“Prospera sent him to the Benevole. I think the logic was that she’s nearby, and she was the first person Prospera could think of who could provide mediculling.”

“This means Prospera roughly knew where we were too, right?”

“Near the place where they were keeping the Benevole. A place the hoofbeast knew how to find. So that’s why she needed the hoofbeast too.”

Aradia kept smiling, but something about her glare smelled distinctly sour. “That’s kind of a terrible thing to do, steal a cripple’s assistance animal right when he’s about to be murdered.”

“Megido, this was _soooooooo_ far in the past, and it wasn’t even me who did it to him! Not really! Or it was a Vriska, but the wrong Vriska! I am already planning on how to make it up to him, it’s going to be so great, like nothing bad ever happened to him in the first place.”

This was news to Terezi too, and she knew Vriska well enough to smell the half-truth in her words: she didn’t know how it was going to happen, but her intent to do it was honest.

“So what happens next is, we take the hoofbeast and go to…” Terezi prompted.

“Truequius. Equishot. Fuck. Zahhak.”

“That’s where the Chimeric _and_ Benevole were?”

“Yes… fuck, I can’t get my brain around it, but that’s right. Those three people were in the same place, and it was important that we got there fast. So we took the horse.”

“Kanaya, Equius, Karkat, Tavros, Gamzee, Aradia… _Us_ …” Terezi listed off. “It kind of seems like there’s a lot of characters present in this last scene.”

“We’ll figure out what to do with all of that soon. I think we should talk to Kanaya and Rose next, and let them know this new piece of the puzzle. It’s kind of obvious shit will hit the whirling device soon and we’re going to run out of ways to advance on our own.” Vriska offered a kind of half-salute to Aradia. “We’ll be in touch, Megido.”

“Sure! I should go check on how things are going.” She gave Vriska two finger guns and a wink. “Try not to betray anyone for stupid reasons and then face no consequences for your actions between now and then!” And the cherry fairy fluttered away, leaving Terezi and Vriska on the lookout point.

“…She’s holding a grudge.”

“Vriska, I’m pale for you, but you fucking deserve it.”

“Fair... Fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My buffer is now 16 chapters long, so I got the go-ahead from my beta to speed up my update schedule from every 5 days to every 4.
> 
> *Fanfictioning intensifies*
> 
> Also happy Hiveswap!


	58. World Turned Upside Down

_Vriska woke the next night, shivering. She hadn’t made it to the sopor, and neither had Lawscale. This rentblock hive provided no equipment for quadrantmates, no concupiscent or conciliatory supplies, which meant Lawscale and Vriska had piled… without a pile. Just together, on the floor, hands on faces and shooshing whispers, with nothing to bury themselves in._

_She had never done anything so kinky in her life._

_In the morning, all Vriska had to warm herself with was Lawscale’s body, cuddled close to hers. While the closeness gave her warmth in her chest, it didn’t bring any heat to her toes or back or hands. The one reclining chair in the block had a thin, undersized snuggleplane on it, so Vriska dragged herself off the floor to reach it, shake it unfolded, and tuck herself in. With her back to Lawscale and knees pulled up to her front, the flat, soft material stood a chance of warming her._

_If only it could help her sleep again. She felt Lawscale’s breath at her back, slow and soothing, but she couldn’t close her eyes again. The rough floor and thin blanket could only account for so much. A thousand thoughts wouldn’t let her sleep as she tried to comprehend what she had just_ done. _What this_ meant _._

_What was going to happen when Lawscale woke up._

_The night before had been the kind of pile torrid paperbacks peddled to the masses, overflowing with feelings too strong to put into complete sentences, let alone be said without tears. Topics spilled out of them with little regard for creating a conversation. Lawscale regretted her blindness again, for the first time since her injury. Vriska wanted to rip the Deadbeat’s eyes out after what he said. Lawscale wished the Chimeric still trusted her even if he rightfully assumed that she intended to betray him. Vriska never trusted anyone but now she trusted Lawscale and it terrified her._

_Vriska had really said all of that. And Lawscale had said all of_ that _. And now when the evening was still and empty, it all rested on Vriska as heavy as shackles. What should she do? What_ could _she do? And she was hungry, and she still couldn’t find any damn warmth under this blanket! Bodily needs felt petty in the light of her distress this evening, the storm after the calm._

_And then Lawscale stirred. Vriska froze, almost hoping the Vigilant would think she was still sleeping, but that ruse didn’t even last a second. Lawscale’s voice cracked with dehydration and exhaustion, but she asked, “Is that the only snuggleplane?”_

_“...I didn’t look for any others.”_

_Lawscale made a sound between a hum and a groan, and rolled herself away from Vriska. Vriska felt an urge to reach out and keep her from leaving, but forced it down. She brought back their outer coats and clothes and tossed it in Vriska’s direction. “Sort out what’s mine.”_

_Compliantly, Vriska untangled her coat from Lawscale’s jacket and put the Vigilant’s possessions on her lap when she sat down next to Vriska again. Lawscale found the sleeves and slid the jacket on backward and gave herself a hug. Vriska imitated her, but put on her jacket properly, and then took the snuggleplane and wrapped it around both their backs. Lawscale grabbed onto one side, and Vriska the other._

_After a few minutes, Lawscale said, “I’m sorry.”_

_“For what?”_

_“Dragging you into all of this.”_

_“There’s no telling what the ruddies would have done to you.”_

_“Not that. Or… not only that.”_

_“Then what else?”_

_Lawscale blinked a few times. Her face looked so raw and defenseless without her glasses. Maybe those square, red shades were still in the wreckage of the bar. “I don’t know how I feel. So much has happened so fast, and it’s confusing.”_

_“I mean… it was good, right? I thought it was go—”_

_“Mother merciful,_ please _…” Lawscale leaned forward and ran one hand through her hair. “We just shouldn’t.”_

_“Please what!? If this gives us clarity in this world turned upside down, I don’t see why we shouldn’t!” She prodded Lawscale’s shoulder. “Present evidence for my consideration.”_

_“I need you to not patronize me first!” Lawscale snapped, and Vriska figured she deserved it. But she also felt she deserved a real answer. Instead, silence grew for a few minutes longer. Vriska clutched her half of the blanket, and she could see Lawscale holding tight to hers, too._

_“Has the Compasse attempted to contact us?” Lawscale asked._

_“I haven’t checked.”_

_“Are you going to do that?”_

_“I’ll get around to it.”_

_Lawscale tensed. “I don’t think it’s wise to keep an Empress waiting.”_

_“I have other priorities at the moment.”_

_“Prospera—”_

_“Look, I will upend our meager belongings if the lack of a pile is what you protest to, but I think there are some revelations from the day before that need to be addressed, regardless of what we decide our relationship status will be.”_

_Lawscale turned her face away and groaned again, avoiding but not absconding. Or at least, she wasn’t putting distance between herself and Vriska._

_“You want him to win, don’t you?”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

_“_ You _practically said as much eight hours ago. You wish he still trusted you. You wish he could believe you’re ruddy. And maybe he’s been stained by more blood than even our oldest soldiers have seen, but you want the Compasse to stop fighting, not him. Am I—”_

_“Don’t you dare ask if you’re correct.”_

_“...Okay,” Vriska said, but her tongue burned to ask it anyway. This was exactly what she had been so scared of: returning to the rigid, unforgiving dance of barbs and competition after a day spent with their deepest, palest feelings on display. Vriska wanted to remind Lawscale of what that had felt like, touch her face and lay her back out on the floor and hold her tightly. But after sundown, Vriska knew half the reason she wanted to do that was to distract Lawscale from the fact she now held some of Vriska’s secrets._

_Long minutes passed without Lawscale saying anything, and in spite of the torture, Vriska held her tongue. Things only changed when Lawscale tipped her head back and threaded her balanced horns behind Vriska’s neck._

_“The world will never be the same after what’s been done,” Lawscale admitted in a quiet voice. “And I don’t see a future for myself as the Compasse’s Vigilant anymore. Even if we can stop him, what will happen after?”_

_“...We don’t know,” Vriska asked. “Are you saying that you were never going to turn him in? You planned to join?”_ And you didn’t tell me?

_“It’s just a fantasy. I don’t know what my future would be as a traitor, but at least that’s a problem I can try and solve.” Lawscale sighed. “You understand what I mean, don’t you?”_

_Vriska did. The deal had been she needed to stop the Chimeric to avoid her multi-span sentence for her innumerable crimes against her fellow trolls. She’d be left with culling service, something mundane and powerless and boring, for the rest of her span. And it would be the right thing to do, to stay and accept that generously lessened punishment, but if the rebellion could offer her a chance to do something else,_ anything _else..._

_“I’m sorry. About everything.”_

_“I think twenty-four hours ago, I would have asked you to itemize that list,” Lawscale said, a small hint of humor in her voice. “But now, I think I understand what you mean.”_

_“It’s nice, being understood, isn’t it?”_

_“Why are you so terrible…” she asked, but with no force._

_“Am I really?” Vriska asked anyway._

_“Really what?”_

_“So terrible.”_

_Lawscale didn’t say anything._

_“You’re supposed to say ‘no, you’re not.’”_

_“I’m also not supposed to lie to someone I piled without a pile.”_

_Vriska’s cheeks still burned to think of that. Of all the things she had ever done in the name of her pale quadrant…_

_It took another long pause, the two of them just huddled together under that blanket, before Lawscale asked, “Would you be hurt, if I refused you?”_

_“Naturally?” Vriska answered, already dreading why Lawscale was asking that question._

_“In the sense that any troll would at least be slightly hurt if rejected, right?”_

_“…No. In a personal sense.”_

_Lawscale seemed to be gathering her thoughts, and Vriska couldn’t stop something sad and desperate from reaching out first. If she gave her side, added more information and scattered the logical conclusion Lawscale wanted to draw, maybe things would go differently._

_“I understand your reservations. Completely. We have spent more time as enemies than as friends, and barely more time as friends than... conciliatory partners. I know this. But I never had the chance to know you in this capacity, and see what you fight for, and what you want to protect. I can’t describe what I feel for you as anything but pity, and that very thought is at least as frightening to me as it is to you, but I… I can’t run from it. You’ve known me to run from consequences for my entire life, you know my crimes better than anyone, but I cannot run from this. I cannot run from_ you _. And I never will.” Vriska laughed a little as a thought struck her. “Here, imagine this, say your disability is discovered, what if I perform my penance in culling service to your benefit? I could leave you with all the freedom to do anything you want, it would be a culling relationship in name only! Doesn’t that help make the future a little less bleak? To… face it together?”_

_Lawscale’s eyes shut, and Prospera heard her take a deep breath. “I’m flattered, Prospera, I swear I am. But that isn’t going to work.”_

_“Why won’t it? Which part of my argument is flawed, I’ll strengthen it!”_

_She let go of the blanket and sought Vriska’s hand. Her skin felt only slightly warmer than Vriska’s own. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. And I know that after what happened at the bar, what we did… helped. But I just don’t know how I feel.”_

_“We can fix that! Work through it!”_

_“The thing is, I don’t know if I truly pity you, or if you’re just the closest thing I have to a friend right now,” Lawscale told her. “I’m fairly certain you’re the same way, but don’t realize it yet.”_

_“I’m not—I swear I don’t! That’s not me!” Vriska insisted, but she already felt Lawscale pulling away. She let go of the blanket and left it across Vriska’s shoulders, standing and turning her jacket right-side-back again._

_“I’m going to check for messages from the Compasse,” Lawscale told her. “Then we should head back.”_

_Vriska continued to sit on the floor, blanket and coat giving her no comfort in the void that Lawscale left behind. She felt tears behind her eyes, like some sort of wiggler rejected by her first crush. And as Vriska watched Lawscale take the communicator and leave the block, she remembered the Benevole, her decision, and the hollow pain left behind._

Is this what justice feels like? A bad person suffers and the good people get to walk away?

_In privacy, Vriska let some of her tears fall, enough to take the edge off. She cried as many as she could directly into her sleeve. Then she stood up, folded the snuggleplane, and replaced it on the reclining seat. The room had a desk; Vriska had paid no notice to it earlier because she had no need for it, but now she sat at the education surface and found paper. It was a small pad, nearly depleted, but she could use it well enough._

My dearest 8enevole,

The path I seek 8rings me new trials each day, 8ut I endure them only with the hope that you are well. The universe appears to 8e sending me a particular message encrypted in the language of rep8d heart8reak, and I am finally starting to fathom it. There is justice stronger than what we trolls imperson8 in our laws and courts. I have met it, and it has told me that I will pay my penance in solitude and misery. Is this what you wanted for me? Is this what you think I deserve? And is this your revenge for h8rting y8u or 8thers?

_No, no. This misery was not and had never been the Benevole’s curse. Vriska took the scribbled note, shredded it, and tossed it in the refuse receptacle. She had a few sheets of proper letter paper in her bag, so she pulled one out and started to draft a new letter, something divorced from the sorrow resting on her soul. It was almost like a training exercise: to pull herself together, pretend nothing was wrong, and beg as usual for the forgiveness of a wronged matesprit._

_Maybe if Vriska wrote persuasively enough to the Benevole, she would then testify to Vriska’s changed character for Lawscale, the very thing Lawscale had promised to do for Vriska when this madness started._  

_But she knew that wouldn’t happen. And she should know better than to drown herself in fantasy._

  

* * *

 

  _Feferi knew she should be upset with Lawscale and Prospera, but too many other crises exhausted her ability to feel anything at them._

_The night after one of the Chimeric’s tribes had so flagrantly recruited from a town near the amphibiortress, Lawscale dragged Prospera to Feferi’s office to apologize. In spite of possessing the cooler blood and supposedly more rational head, Prospera had caught wind that a former debtor of hers would be there, and decided to make him pay. Lawscale had followed as soon as she discovered Prospera’s vengeful scheme and hunted her down once more._

_Once they explained, Feferi dismissed them a moment later with just a word of warning. What punishment could she deliver on that odd pair? Feferi herself had created dozens of exemptions for them to let them do what she could not: hunt the Chimeric, petition Governors, advise counter-terrorism efforts. And besides, she had no time to imagine a penalty. Everyone was counting on her to destroy the cancer in their midst and restore order._

_Feferi met with generals, reporting on the movements of the Chimeric’s forces. Those who had earned her trust enough to hold what few weapons Beforus created informed and advised her on what to do with these self-described tribes marauding around the planet and gaining strength. In a sweep, they had distributed themselves somewhat evenly on the surface of the planet. Each had started with estimated populations of less than one hundred, but they had kept recruiting until they were many hundreds, some edging close to two thousand. Not only that, but they were pirates, raiders, and thieves. Communities suffered and starved from interrupted supplies. Compounds meant to keep the planet’s most lethal weapons away from those unfit to use them cracked, and the terrorists claimed explosives, and armaments, and ships for themselves._

_She and the generals added up the numbers and knew, body for body, the Chimeric’s rebels outnumbered the Compasse’s professional soldiers. Common reinforcementers and combat-trained cullers were not included in this, but even their numbers looked unlikely to tip the scale back in her favor._

_T_ _hough she didn’t sleep anymore, Feferi’s speculation haunted her like day terrors. What did the Chimeric truly want from all of this? Would he storm her palace and demand surrender? Add stains of fuschia to his horrible, bloody coat? Did he want to become a tyrant? How many would have to die to see him defeated? How many more would die if he wasn’t?_

_After over a sweep of global fear and pain, Feferi’s best efforts little more than a sieve trying to hold water, the generals had strange news for her. Areas plagued by the rebels for perigees were seeing them pulling back. They were abandoning strongholds and communities they had used as roosts and moving out. Feferi watched flags move around the maps of the world as the ruddies converged on a single point—an island, uninhabited, off the coast of Grizzhod, a large city far to the south of Feferi’s palace._

_“He will lay siege,” Feferi concluded, beating her generals to the punch._

_Their fins folded low and morose and no one would meet her eyes. They were mourning. And after five hundred and twenty-five sweeps of patience and compassion, for the first time, Feferi felt rage._

_“Why do you look as if he has already won?” she demanded. “He has brought together his entire army into one place. His arrogance has grown too large for him to hold. We have to take this opportunity to end him!”_

_The generals around her shrank back further. Some were older than her reign, others younger, but all were deemed experts in the theory of warfare and also enlightened enough to never fight. She wished she could replace them all with mad, murderous prisoners. Maybe then she’d get somewhere._

_“Your Radiance, if… if we use their tactics, we’ll be no bett—”_

_“It won’t matter whose tactics we used if we_ lose _! When every ruddy has recanted or died, we can spend millennia debating tactics and ethics and if we won in the ‘right’ way! But if he has a foothold—if he has territory, if he has a government—then this will no longer be a rebellion! It will become a civil war! He needs to be stopped at all costs, and yes, I am including cost of life!”_

_Her generals stared at her with open fear, and the bravest among them had to ask, “Compasse, should we perhaps reconvene tomorrow and try again, with... cooler heads?”_

_“The time for cool heads is over!” Feferi commanded. “We are staying in this room until we know how to protect Grizzhod from terrorists! Give me an evacuation plan for the citizens! A defense strategy against naval and land attacks! A counterattack plan! NOW!”_

_It took two days of sequestered work with no sleep or food until Feferi’s generals produced an acceptable plan. When she emerged from the war room, probably looking about as wild and angry as she felt, the terrible news did not end. A shaking Courtier stood outside of her office, holding a stack of pages tall as his forearm._

_“D-Delivery, your Radiance,” he stammered. “Governor Briteyes received it, and sent it here…”_

_Feferi took the heap of paper and dropped it onto her desk. From the first page, she knew what it was. This was the finalized ‘hostage’ proposal, all of the work they had done to create reforms that would only be enacted if the Chimeric surrendered. But now, these pages were covered in red ink, scratching out entire pages of her legislation and re-writing provisions in their place. The length of the legislation had doubled as the Chimeric set the terms for his own surrender: abolition of culling in all forms, re-assign territorial control to reflect demographic populations, dissolve Feferi’s court of needful supplicants, disband the Guardians?!_

_Feferi stopped reading after the first fifty pages, only dutifully glancing at all of them in the off-chance something_ rational _entered the Chimeric’s argument, but that hope was in vain. This wasn’t a true counter-proposal. It was a declaration of war._

_At least she wasn’t surprised anymore. He wanted war? He’d get it._


	59. Siege

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna put an extra violence warning on this one too. :X

_The twelve tribes reunited on an island off the coast of Grizzhod, a craggy and shadeless place inhospitable to visitors. Decent folk lived in the city anyway, and it left the fair-sized isle open for the rebellion to gather just outside of Grizzhod’s defenses._

_As everything gathered, Eridan marveled at the_ scope _of what they had accomplished in a sweep. The tribes ranged in population from one to two thousand trolls, and it turned out the Chimeric’s prodigal Tribe One was on the small side. Their forces in total eclipsed seventeen thousand in a rainbow of blood colors. Psychically gifted warmbloods, once called a danger to others and themselves, leaned into that label and sparked with brilliant lightning. Coddled trolls told they would never have the strength to work now held armaments in calloused hands. Tribes who had dove into landlocked regions returned with great animals, some stolen and some tamed. Other tribes had stayed close to the water and built fleets of warships. The swell of pride in Eridan’s chest as he saw the dozens of masts lined up like a forest matched how he felt to see the_ Absolution _ready to sail. They had cannons and explosives and psionics and psychics, and on the cusp of raining death down upon his fellow troll, Eridan had never felt so alive._

_There was something wrong with him, he knew. But he was just the kind of wrong the Chimeric needed to get the job done._

_The tribe commanders and some of their lieutenants met to put together their strategy, which all things considered looked very simple. Grizzhod itself had a large population but little more than legal enforcement officers for protection. Their naval forces could rain iron on the city while ground soldiers chased everyone out of the streets. Then if they breached the city’s governing hall, they would effectively be in command._

_That was the plan, at least. The commanders were in the middle of informing the Chimeric of the unique resources they had acquired over the sweep when some lookouts approached with news._

_“There’s imperial convoys outside Grizzhod,” a troll with a funny four-pupiled eye reported. “You said they might evacuate, but they’re pumping soldiers in.”_

_“Real soldiers?”_

_“A few thousand at least. More are on the way.”_

_The Chimeric didn’t flinch. “We know one of us is worth five of them in a fight. That fact is unchanged. Let me know when they number one hundred thousand.”_

_Eridan laughed a little, but he waved away the attention. The Comapsse didn’t_ have _one hundred thousand soldiers. The planet had never needed that many, and Eridan doubted there were that many trolls on the planet with enough violence in their hearts to become professional warriors. But, once the meeting dissolved, Eridan turned a spyglass to the outskirts of Grizzhod and watched them move: six- and eight-wheeled transports with the imperial sign painted on their sides, in and out like ants to a food source. Eridan remembered selecting vehicle models for those convoys a century ago and knew exactly how many trolls they could carry. They were arriving with soldiers and leaving with civilians._

_Counting vehicles, he could confirm four thousand imperial soldiers. Then five. Then six._

If you are now capable of war, you’re capable of anything, Fef.

_Contemplating that idea in the short nights until the attack sent cracks through Eridan’s confidence that the Chimeric had worked so hard to cultivate. He could still twist his own mind into an imitation of the Compasse’s even after all this time. She realized how dire it would be for the Chimeric to formally rule a single inch of land. To stop him, she had coalesced every harmful implement at her disposal into a single assault. With a few clever phrases, she could give her soldiers a reason to stand bravely in the face of renegades. And these troops amassing here represented the ones that could arrive in time for the attack; it wouldn’t be enough to lay siege to the city. They had to weather the counter-siege that would follow._

_He used to take joy in pointing out tactical flaws to the Chimeric in public, for the thrill and attention of the verbal duel it provoked. But this time, he chose a quiet moment hours before the assault and voiced his concerns privately, the ever-present Mirthful the only other listener. This time will be different. This time will be harder._

_The Chimeric looked pensive, but nodded. “There’s not much we can do about that this close to deployment. I’ll address our forces accordingly and prepare them that intimidation is no longer in our arsenal. But I need you to believe me, that we will not meet our end here.”_

_“Where do we meet it?”_

_“Later.”_

_“How much later?”_

_“I’ll give you warning. It’s one of those endings that serves as a new beginning. Open warfare will not be feasible after a certain point. It’s not worth discussing the details of the after when we’re still in the now.”_

_And the Chimeric saluted him. Salutes were not a part of Tribe One’s culture, and Eridan had already gotten used to not seeing them. The rare gesture satisfied his need to be heard, even as the answer he received perplexed him further._

_The day of the attack, the sun had barely set before the Chimeric had his sickles in the air, flashing a signal sent down the line to command everyone into position. Fighters moved from the island to launch boats heading for the shore._

_And immediately, cannons from the walls began to fire._ Those are new.

 _“Return fire!” Eridan shouted, signaling with his hand. The broadside of the_ Absolution _roared, its beautiful reach more than enough to hit the city and safely stay out of range. Then Eridan pulled his Crosshairs up to his shoulder and took careful aim against the watchtowers, blasting three apart with white-hot lightning._

_“Sir! The other side!”_

_Eridan looked away from the city and off the_ Absolution’s _other railing. More ships approached, fuschia flags stretching in the air like a scream. Naval reinforcements. How had Eridan, who once commanded almost every ship the Compasse owned, failed to consider naval reinforcements?!_

_“Prepare fire to port!” Eridan commanded, looping the Crosshairs over his back and taking his first steps up the rigging. “Pass to the other ships, we need to focus on the water! End cover fire to the troops! If those ships crack through us, we’re done for!”_

_Shouts below confirmed his orders as Eridan continued to climb, scaling the center mast until he reached the lookout. Then, he pulled the Crosshairs back into his hands and closed one eye, taking slow aim against their approaching enemy._

“We will not meet our end here.”

_If the Chimeric was wrong, Eridan would personally drown him._

 

* * *

 

_The cannonfire from the rebellion’s ships stopped after one round. Gamzee hadn’t paid attention too close in the strategy meetings, but he was pretty sure they were supposed to keep up their righteous thundering._

_So that wasn’t good._

_Gamzee huddled in one of the lifeboats making its way to the shores of Grizzhod. Some had reached the shores, but others were still in transit, assailed by stone and metal they had thought would be busted up by now. Psionics in the boats bravely rose up to deflect projectiles or fire brain-lasers at the cannon nests, but they caused fires in the meantime, and some literally knocked themselves out with overexertion. What were they supposed to do, though? Not defend themselves or their friends?_

_The Chimeric’s hand touched Gamzee’s. “What’s wrong with them?” he asked._

_He turned his focus toward the ships and sails, sensing the warmest ruddies left aboard and the fear running through their minds. Distance and hemospectrum kept Gamzee from getting the clearest read, but he squeezed the Chimeric’s hand. “Pink. They’re scared of pink.”_

_In a flash, the Chimeric pieced together what this meant. “Shit, the imperial navy…”_

_“Are we gonna change plans?”_

_“No. We continue. We’ll have less support, but I know we can do this.” He crouched, keeping his body low to the boat and making himself less of a target. Gamzee imitated him, wondering if the artillery was aiming for a troll with crimson eyes._

_Over the rims of the repurposed lifeboat, Gamzee could see their transports reaching the shore, while other boats struck by shots left their occupants struggling to swim or floating motionless. The blood diffusing in the water reminded Gamzee of the old minstrelister blessing where a single drop of blood could transform vats of paint in the eyes of the Messiahs._

This is a sea of blood now.

_The Chimeric’s boat made it to the shore with just a few scares splashing to their sides. Ruddies piled out of the boat and onto the beach, an idyllic stretch of sand that probably served nighttime vacationers well, when Grizzhod had a population of civilians. Battalions charged up the beach and toward a boardwalk, and then streets lined with what used to be hives and shops. Most of the mouths of those streets had barricades now, sandbags and blocks stacked tall to halt the ruddies from advancing. The Chimeric shouted some orders toward other groups, especially ones with burned-out psionics, while Gamzee did a little mathematic calculation in his brain, measuring stacks of sandbags against his own wreck of a body._

_Clubs in hand, shoulders low, Gamzee broke away from the squad to run up the beach. His feet kicked back loose sand, then thudded on hollow wood, and finally crossed onto pavement as he barreled forward, further, faster—_

_His shoulder collided with the sandbags, and that barrier started to_ move _. A yell of effort and few seconds later, they gave and parted, and Gamzee found himself standing in the middle of a soldier’s nest, greenbloods deemed strong enough to face the horrors of war raising weapons against him._

No motherfucker told you what kind of horror _I_ am, did they?

_Gamzee felt the chucklevoodoos come when called, flashing behind his eyes and twisting his paint and skittering down his fingers. In just a few swings of his club, they all fell, not all of them hit. Some bled, but others just had their arms over their heads, sobbing pleas for mercy. Well, Gamzee’s little bro would decide how many rations of mercy they had and who deserved them._

_But now there was an opening. Gamzee saw the Chimeric’s squad change course and beeline for it, a few others following._

_“Take your squads left and right! Attack the other barricades from behind! Crack them, whatever it takes!” Then the Chimeric turned to Gamzee and added, “While_ we _go after the cannons.”_

_“You got it,” Gamzee agreed before he even knew what the strategy was._

_There were half a dozen or so high points on the beach: one watchtower and a few tall hivestems. The Chimeric sprinted through the deserted streets, sickles in hand, as Gamzee followed just a few feet behind. Their target-tower had more soldiers at the base, ready with rifles and blades, but from their faces and panic they clearly hadn't  expected the rebel leader and his monster of a moirail to descend on them so quickly. In a few moments of slicing and beating, they lay defeated, and the Chimeric paused for another moment._

_“Who’s up there?” he asked Gamzee._

_He took a moment to focus, straining to separate them from the thick fear of the combat all around them. “That’s aquas up there,” he reported. “And… an officer, a cerulean.”_

_“Okay. We need them to stop firing,_ now. _” The Chimeric put his hand on Gamzee’s arms. “Scare them. Like the ones behind the barricade.”_

_“But if you stay down here—”_

_“I won’t. I’ll be coming with you.”_

_“But they’re cooler than you, it’s…” Gamzee’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want you in my motherfucking line of fire.”_

_The Chimeric left his sickles on his belt for a moment so he could hold Gamzee’s face. His steady, blazing gaze carried a deep conviction. “I know my limits. I need you to help me.”_

_Gamzee hesitated just a second longer before he turned his face to kiss his little bro’s palm, and then he charged through the door and up the internal level ascenders. This time, the Chimeric followed him, and Gamzee prepared to pull from those deep wells of terror within him. He didn’t have time to think about what this power could do to his own moirail if he let it loose._

_When Gamzee reached the door to the hivetop, he knocked it off its hinges and let his jaw open with a deep, guttural roar. The cannontrolls at the top startled, some screamed, and a few fumbled for their own armaments, but Gamzee beat them to it. He spun his clubs around his palms and swung them into skulls. Unlike the warmer greens manning the barricade, these soldiers weren’t completely lost to Gamzee’s psychic fear. Some even managed to fight back; he felt the tickle of a blade plunge into his side. Then that blade’s owner lost his head._

_He took a few more wounds and ended a few more lives before Gamzee was confident the tower was clear. He let go of his grasp on the chucklevoodoos and settled back into himself, looking to the Chimeric. Fresh bloodstains splattered across his coat, as well as his face and hands. And Gamzee saw his hands were empty. He glanced down at the body laying at the Chimeric’s feet and saw his sickles buried into the coolblood captain, jutting at odd angles._

_“Little bro?” Gamzee asked. As he took a step forward, the Chimeric flinched and moved away. Had Gamzee overdone it? Had the Chimeric misjudged?_

_But in a moment, Gamzee saw a set of taper candles take form in the Chimeric’s pan, five of them, lighting one by one and all going out before they started to light again. And then his hands unclenched and he took a deep breath. Gamzee had seen the Chimeric put candles in his pan before… was something he imagined up, or a memory that he called on in times of fear?_

_“S—Sorry,” the Chimeric managed. “I st-still expected… this is fine. I’m f-fine.”_

_He was lying. But if Gamzee moved any closer, he could startle his little bro again, and after all they had been through he couldn’t stand seeing the Chimeric shy away from him. So he knelt down, dropped his clubs, and waited. The Chimeric’s hands released and gripped on nothing a few more times, and the candles continued until he closed the distance between himself and Gamzee and gripped his moirail’s front like a troll half his age. Come to think of it, as Gamzee returned the hug, he realized, the Chimeric was twelve now. Half his age had been their first pile, obscene and sinful. And to think that pile would lead them to war…_

_Screams and booms continued as Gamzee shushed in his moirail’s ear, helping the Chimeric ease out of any lingering terror. It was the best thing Gamzee could do to un-do what he had done._

_“Okay,” the Chimeric said, his voice thinner than before. “That… worked. So now to the next tower—”_

_“Little bro, tell me your miracle of a brain can get its think on to a better plan than making me scare you to death over and over,” Gamzee urged him, loosening his arms to give him a chance to raise his head. The Chimeric did, and he looked around, to the ships in the distance, the towers along the beach, and deeper into town, where the imperial commander and the key to winning the battle lay._

_“…You remember how cannons work?” He asked._

_“I will in a minute,” Gamzee said. He re-latched one of the cannons pointed in a new direction and ran his hands along the iron barrel, asking a question with his mind,_ How do you work your motherfucking miracle?

_And he could feel the cannon answer, baked into the very core of its creation: a vent in the back for the fuse. Gunpowder, packed tight, down the front of the cannon. A shot, packed tighter. Aim and light the fuse. “Ready when you are.”_

_“Good. Aim it at that hivestem there, the next cannon nest. Time for some friendly fire."_

 

* * *

 

_Nepeta knew a truth of the wild that most ignored. Herbivores could be just as deadly as carnivores._

_She had her own squadron, same as everyone else, but she didn’t lead them. In fact, she wasn’t really expected to fight with them at all. After all, she was a feral troll and a mighty hunter. Conventional battle didn’t suit her, so she took the high road, and hopefully the fast road. She clawed her way onto the roofs and sprinted between the hivetops, making her way to the center of town faster than the battalions in the streets._

_Nepeta remembered hunts from when she was a cub, against giant longhorns and prong-headed hoofbeasts twice the size of the biggest roarbeast in her pride. They never ate anything but grass and leaves, but Nepeta had seen them maul and kill creatures that trolls would say were deadlier by far. After two sweeps of rebellion, the Compasse had finally decided to send fighting forces. The ruddies and soldiers clashed, and for the first time, the will of the imperialists matched the will of the rebellion. They had something they were willing to kill for, just like their enemy._

_Still, she knew the strategy. The Seafarer with his cannons, the Chimeric leading the ground troops with the Mirthful at his side, and Nepeta, running as fast as she could for the command center. The Chimeric knew it couldn’t be very well-fortified, since Grizzhod didn’t have infrastructure for war. Most likely they had taken a central government hall, and from what Nepeta had seen of those by shadowing Trueshot’s visits to other cullers, they emphasized style over stability. Trueshot used to point that out to her specifically, since he took pride in designing and building structures able to stand for millennia. “One hundred sweeps before this place starts to crumble… Fifty sweeps on those columns, at most…”_

_And Nepeta needed to survive for a single night._

_She skirted around the fighting in the streets, aiming for the center of the town. Sometimes stray sentries caught sight of her, and she had to divert a little bit to show them her claws or fangs before she could continue. When the patrols started to double-up and stay in range of each other, she knew she was close._

_Nepeta heard new cannonfire in the distance, reaching_ closer _to the city rather than further away. From behind a residential exhaust tube, she looked toward the coast and saw those cannon towers had turned around. They weren’t firing at the ruddy ships in the harbor anymore. They were firing into the city, aiming for the same center of town Nepeta needed to infiltrate._

_Okay. Everything had just became much deadlier in one sense, but easier in another. Her allies were technically firing on her now, but that could give her the cover she needed to proceed. She made her way to an incendiary escape strut and abandoned the high road entirely, dropping to the streets where she could run unhindered. Adrenaline pumped in her blood, keeping her body and brain racing. Usually by now, she had a sense of whether they were winning or not. The imperialists would be fleeing as ruddies screamed their war cries victoriously. But now, the screams of the ruddies and soldiers sounded the same. If she failed, there might be reinforcements. But she didn’t know that for sure._

You can do this. You _have_ to do this.

_In the low streets, she encountered far less resistance; she supposed the imperialists expected attacks from the roofs. Fuschia flags confirmed which building they were using for their headquarters, and Nepeta could see why: they had stacked their soldiers in rows, three deep with at least a hundred troops, at the front entrance to the building, with similar numbers at service entrances to the sides._

_Nepeta pulled into the shadows and examined the structure. She tried to imagine Trueshot with her, casually pointing out the weaknesses of the government hive and how he would_ ‘strengthen’ _them. He hated tall arches, and more than three stories, and exposed balconies… And then Nepeta saw one of those balconies, overlooking an uncovered rectangular meeting space._

_“Hey!”_

_She whipped around and hissed at the voice, but no one in a uniform appeared. It was a dozen or so ruddies, recognizing her as one of their own, and a tealblood in their midst managed to recognize her by name._

_“Tameless! What’s the plan?” she asked._

_Nepeta pointed to the balcony. “I need to get up there. That’s the command center.”_

_“Sunderer can do that, maybe—can you?”_

_A burgundy in their midst nodded. “Yeah… I need a minute, but I can… help you jump.”_

_“We don’t have a minute,” Nepeta told him frankly, and though he gritted his teeth, he nodded._

_“Make a cradle for her. If she’s in the air, I can boost.”_

_Nepeta took a running start and leapt into the trolls hands. They tossed her up, and a cradle of white light carried her three times higher than they could have. She sailed onto the exposed balcony, crouching and preparing to roll her landing, and as soon as she did, she kept running: into the doors, past guards, and down hallways. The architecture told her everything she needed to know as she sprinted down the hallways without pause._

_They had left the door to the command center open. Maybe allowing messengers was more important than stopping attackers. Nepeta didn’t have to slow down at all as she barreled her way into the nerve center of the imperial opposition to her cause._

_“General—“_

_“Halt!”_

_“Someone stop her!”_

_But she had her eyes on the prize now. A seadweller in a stupid coat raised his head and turned as Nepeta descended on him. A moment later, she leapt and tackled him to the ground, wrestling him into submission._

_“Get her!_

_“But how—“_

_Nepeta had joked about this a dozen times with the Seafarer, but she figured it was time to put her mouth where her humor was. With the seadweller pinned beneath her, she opened her mouth wide and_ chomped _down on his neck as hard as she could. Flesh tore as she pulled back, a ripped chunk of the seadweller’s neck coming with her. He didn’t actually taste as much like fish as she expected. He tasted like troll._

_The sight of a cannibalistic oliveblood had the desired effect. Other officers in the room screamed, some ran, and others retched. Nepeta spat out the mouthful of his flesh and turned, looking for the device the Chimeric had told her about. It had to be some kind of radio relay, a wire tapper that would send a message to the rest of the imperial forces. In a minute, she found the little lever she was looking for, and with a shaking hand, started to tap out the message._

_R. E. T. R. E. A. T._

_She sent it a few more times—RETREAT, RETREAT—before she heard more footfalls behind her. One of the officers had regained his composure and had a baton pulled back, ready to strike. Nepeta rolled, preparing to pounce on his legs, but something whizzed through the air and struck him first._

_Standing in the doorway, the tealblood from earlier had a slingshot in her hand, and a few of her companions by her side. The small pack of reinforcements charged into the room to help dispatch anyone else still conscious, and for the first time, Nepeta had the chance to breathe._

_This wasn’t over yet. What if the imperialists retreated to this location and exterminated the ruddies on sight? What if they knew to ignore the retreat order as a false command? And what would the ruddies do with anyone who failed to retreat? Nepeta wouldn’t know those answers until the Chimeric, if he was still alive, arrived to dispatch orders, but she felt in her heart it was decided._

_Grizzhod was theirs._


	60. What Next

Karkat had to admit, he liked Earth movies a lot. There was a kind of simplistic idiocy to them, where even their most intricate plots took barely more than token effort to understand. They were short, scenes of Earth looked pretty, and maybe humans didn’t wear identifiable signs on their clothing, but he could tell their weird brownish faces apart just fine. And Karkat liked watching them snuggled up with Dave, who after declaring his flushed interest in Karkat turned out to be kind of a hugger.

Like, a _big_ hugger.

It startled Karkat how different it felt, being hugged by Dave. His body ran at the same temperature as Karkat’s, no highblood chill anywhere to be found. He rested his hands on the broad planes of Karkat’s body, like his back and shoulders, nowhere delicate like his face or stomach. And if they were cuddled up right, Dave would do this _thing_ that involved squishing his cheek a little bit against Karkat. It was juvenile and adorable and reminded Karkat that while Dave had a host of flaws and quirks, ‘violent’ wasn’t one of them.

And Karkat still couldn’t wrap his think pan around the how or why, but when Dave looked so happy to just be sitting on a couch and watching movies on Karkat’s crabtop, it settled in deeper that Dave factually, honestly, unironically, straight-up _liked_ him. Karkat caught himself wanting to cry with how happy that thought made him.

They spent a lot of time in his room now, mostly taking breaks only to see the Mayor and put in some hours of community service with him, cataloguing all of the cans he had put down in Can Town so they could be faithfully recreated when the meteor reached the new session, and by extension the universe. Then they’d fuck around with the alchemiters, creating food and weird toys and hybrid movies and even a set of mixstaceans for Karkat to practice his own music sampling with. Karkat felt bad how much time had passed since Dave had taught him how to use turntables, but he gladly picked it up again. Even with other activities to share, the majority of their time together centered on movies.

Until there was a knock at the door. Dave was wrapped around Karkat again, but loosely, and Karkat could tell he was getting kinda tired. He stirred and stretched a little. “I’ll get it,” he mumbled.

“No—wait,” Karkat said. “Wait for another knock.”

“Huh?”

“Just trust me.”

They sat still for another minute until the visitor knocked again. Four knocks, methodical and even. Not eight for Vriska, or some kind of erratic pattern for Terezi. So that left Rose, or…

“Karkat?”

 _Kanaya_. Karkat patted Dave’s shoulder. “I’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

“Kay.”

Karkat crossed to the door and opened it up, finding Kanaya standing outside. She looked perfect and poised as usual, but something in her eyes was a little wilder than usual.

“What’s up?” Karkat asked. “You look like something’s bothering you.”

“The presence of bothers or other disturbing emotions is definitely not relevant to the reason I’m reaching out to you now,” Kanaya hastily explained.

“…Uh-huh.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were informed about an invitation. Or a plan? Or perhaps it should be considered an event.”

“Maybe it’s all three of those things?”

“I think so, yes.”

“And maybe you’re not coming to me _because_ you’re bothered, but the thing you’ve come to me for is bothering you.”

Kanaya grimaced a little. “Essentially.”

“Well, what is it? Another team meeting?”

“It involves a team meeting. But it’s not happening right now. It’s later.” Kanaya threaded her hands together and let them rest on her sash. “It’s… concerning ancient Beforus, and a memory that Vriska and Terezi have recently had the opportunity to more thoroughly explore. The memory recounts the Chimeric’s last battle…”

Karkat heard the sofa in his room squeak as Dave moved.

“Aradia is helping us recruit other ghosts in the dreambubbles to play more parts, but we were hoping that you would be able to assist us as well?” Kanaya’s sentence flowed out of her prim and proper as ever, but still betrayed so much anxiety. “Vriska has assured the rest of us that the event contains thrilling plot twists that are not to be missed.”

“Are you sure you want me in on this? The last time I tried to do that memory thing, it was a total failure.”

“All we would ask is that you try,” Kanaya clarified. “If it doesn’t work, it may be possible to continue without—we would prefer _not_ to continue without you, we would greatly prefer your presence to the alternative, but I want to communicate that the amount of pressure on you regarding this decision is as little as possible. At this point we only care so much about the past because we want to know how it all ended, before we arrive.”

Right, that was getting close, wasn’t it? Just a couple perigees away. Karkat asked, “Can I think about it?”

“Of course! Absolutely. You should take as much time as you require to consider this.” Kanaya managed to smile a little bit. “And I am also glad to see you well. Just in a general sense for no particular reason.”

Karkat stood in the doorway a second longer before answering. He had a strange feeling, like someone returning to him a loaned belonging that he had written off as lost. Kanaya was here, and she cared… “Thanks. I’ll troll you later?”

“I would welcome that, yes.” Kanaya stepped back a bit and waved at Karkat, who finally shut the door. God, his insides felt so stirred up in such weird ways. First Dave, then Kanaya…

“Hey, so you guys weren’t quiet at all, so don’t yell at me for eavesdropping,” Dave told Karkat as he settled back down on the couch.

“I wasn’t going to yell at you,” Karkat said, though he knew he had yelled at Dave for less.

“Thanks. But they’re talking about Karmeric’s last stand. I was there for that memory, it gets… gross.”

“Gross?”

“Violent-gross. Like I forget if this came up in one of the team meetings but it ends with the Mournful getting downright Alternian on the Huntsman. And Karmeric is basically there to just get shot and die.”

“Are you trying to convince me to go and do this roleplay bullshit with the girls? Because this sales pitch is the worst thing you’ve ever attempted in your life.”

“No, I just… want you to know what’s up. You should be able to choose whether plot twists are worth going to a memory to be dead for most of it, and… just consider what it might be like to be in a Mournful-centric memory again.” Dave took a deep breath. “I want you to be okay.”

He had something of a point. Something of a very good point. Karkat didn’t know if he wanted to live through any incarnation of himself looking Gamzee in the face again. He just didn’t know which way the coin would fall on that one, if he’d be terrified out of his wits or break down crying over what had happened between them. But he didn’t want to let the rest of the team down if they were really looking forward to this, Kanaya especially.

_She’s also glad to see me well, huh?_

“Can we talk about this later? I wanna put a new movie on. Something with Dane Cook in it.”

Dave complained his way through changing out the movie disc, but he complied, and instead of wrapping himself around Karkat again, he laid down with his head near Karkat’s lap.

“Dane Cook sucks so he’s gonna put me to sleep anyway,” he explained. “Just getting comfy in anticipation of his sleep-inducing acting.”

“Fuck you,” Karkat mumbled to him, toothless and gentle. The human movie played, so basic and stupid Karkat could probably follow it in his sleep too, but he actually wanted to watch. Earnestness, that was another thing movies from Earth had. For such primitive entertainment they sure took themselves very seriously. Like they wanted a fucking trophy for their efforts. Dave said that literally used to happen on Earth, where they gave ‘good job’ trophies to the best movies of the year. On Alternia, the people who made good movies got to live. Anyone involved in a flop got culled.

As promised, about half an hour into the movie, Dave’s breath evened out and his body relaxed on the couch, sleeping. Karkat kind of wondered what he was supposed to do now, since his movie buddy had conked out. Should he wake Dave up since he was missing the best part of the movie? Turn the movie off and go to sleep with him, if that would even be possible?

Karkat looked at the screen, at Mr. Cook doing his most earnest best, and thought about everything Dave had done. They had a friendship that survived being torn apart and a quadrant that made him not want to punch anything, like, at all. And Dave cared this much about Karkat’s well-being…

He put his hand on the sleeping Dave’s shoulder, just resting it there, comfortable and casual. He hoped it was comfortable and casual. Dave wasn’t really awake to tell him otherwise. As he left his hand there and the movie continued, it really started to feel natural.

_He cares about me._

That thought was getting easier to live with each day.

 

* * *

 

 _The losses were steep. Tameless was still covered in violet blood when Gamzee caught up with her. The Chimeric had to immediately organize all the still-living ruddies to detain the soldiers that hadn’t fled the city when the ‘retreat’ order went out. They’d be held as prisoners, some insurance against any counter-siege the Compasse might arrange. Then there was no time to rest, because everyone had to clean up the bodies in the streets. Arrangements for a pyre were in the works. Then, the Seafarer arrived to report, tears in his eyes as he recounted how many ships they had lost fighting off the naval reinforcements. It was about half of their fleet, and many of the remaining ships had heavy damage, including the_ Absolution. _Professional shipwrights were in short supply among the ruddies, even if they could find quality materials. Gamzee had never seen the troll that upset since he first decided to motherfucking betray the Compasse._

_“We can’t leave anymore,” the Seafarer concluded. “We’ve won our foothold but we’re sittin’ quackbeasts now. We’ve lost a few thousand a our own troops and you can bet the Compasse will have an easier time recruitin’ than we will, given our ‘barbaric actions’ as a late.”_

_“Not necessarily. Trolls too afraid to reach out to us before have seen us win. We’ve done the impossible.”_

_“At the cost a pretty much every advantage we had. The Compasse will be working on a way to crush us.”_

_“We’re holding prisoners of war. And I think a fair number of them might bolster our ranks once we’ve had a chance to show them what our decalogue means.”_

_“Oh, after we massacred six thousand a their friends? And even if they do join us, it just means fewer people the Compasse would have to sacrifice if she wanted to start round two. We can no longer bet on her belief in the sanctity a life.”_

_The Chimeric seemed to have less patience for the Seafarer’s scolding now. “I know you’re distraught that the_ Absolution _was damaged, but you need to understand we won. We lost a lot, but so did the Compasse, and we came out ahead.”_

_“Did we?”_

_A few trolls interrupted the conversation, the Deadbeat in the lead. “Hey, we’ve rounded up… everyone… from the south side. What now?”_

_The Chimeric gave his orders on what to do next, his discussion with the Seafarer functionally ended. Those complaints had to be set aside while there was still work to do, work that lasted for nights, most of it involving corpses. The only comfort Gamzee could take from it all was that there was sopor again. Abandoned hives still had a vast majority of Grizzhod’s citizens’ possessions, and in the name of finding all the corpses, trolls found new clothes, medicine, food, tools, and those precious recuperacoons. After so many deaths, everyone could use some warm, deep slime to get through the day without the inconvenience of dreaming._

_A week into their new residency, they lit the funeral pyre for ally and enemy alike. Gamzee avoided hearing the exact numbers, but he knew the ballpark range. Something in him still felt like this was an occasion to laugh at the absurdity, but outnumbered by thousands of other trolls who wanted to weep, Gamzee kept his conclusions to himself. It took days for the bodies to burn completely, and even then, no one knew what to do with the ashes, mixed as they were with wood and kindling. The winds eventually made the decision for them, eating away at the lightest particles and blowing it into nothingness._

_Talks had to start again over how to adapt the decalogue now that it governed a physical location, with concepts like personal property and scarce supplies. And for that matter, how would resources work? What did the Chimeric have planned for running city infrastructure? Or possible negotiations with the Compasse as an independent nation? Gamzee still didn’t have the pan to comprehend that kind of minutia, but what stood out to him was the tribe cultures. Each commander had their own linguistics, priorities, values, habits. Maybe they all had the decalogue in common, but there was friction now where there had been none before._

Do you have a plan for this, my little motherfucker?

_Eventually, Gamzee got leave from the meetings, knowing the Chimeric was safe from danger and that he had absolutely nothing constructive to add to the dialogue. He started to wander around the town, walking the length back and forth to see if this new place would ever feel natural. These stolen hives weren’t the same as the shelters and outposts the Chimeric’s Tribe One had inhabited for the past sweep. Real people, innocent people, had been made refugees in the name of the ruddy, bloody war._

_Well, they’d be cared for at least. Imperial loyalists had to be falling over themselves to show their motherfucking devotion, and taking on these new culling cases had to be a great way of making that happen. It was a justification, an excuse, but at least it was true. There was no way the Compasse would fail to take responsibility for her own change of direction. Sending soldiers to die was one thing. Suffering civilians were another. She’d put them up in the amphibiortress herself before she let a single one of them go without._

_And what would happen now, after everything they had done? The Chimeric had promised this land to them, and now they more or less motherfucking owned it. So next would be to own more? To formally declare independence from the Compasse? Find a way to reconcile all these motherfucking tribes who were starting to feel so alien to each other?_

_On one of those walks with all those questions in his pan, Gamzee looked up at the sky and the stars, and saw one of them moving. And not just moving, but getting closer… like it was falling._

_Gamzee kept his face skyward but_ ran, _unsure if this was some kind of artillery shell from the rumored counter-siege. As it grew closer, Gamzee could see a halo of light around it, like a psionic, but oscillating between red and blue. He only knew one motherfucker who had light like that._

_Once it smashed into the ground, Gamzee approached, pulling it out of the cracked asphalt and giving it a look-over. It was a chest, the size of Gamzee’s torso, with some letters welded into its metal lid and a twelve-button keypad under a cover. He peered closer at the letters:_

CG -  
_my name, 22  
_ \- TA

_Had to be some kind of clue about the keypad combination, which Gamzee took a closer look at. It had twelve digits, but they didn’t run sequentially. One, three, five, seven-eight-nine, twelve, then a few others, ending with twenty-one. He gave up pretty instantaneously and decided this was a puzzle for his moirail to solve, so he dug the chest free of its crater and dragged it back to the hive he and the Chimeric claimed as their own._

_When Gamzee arrived, the Chimeric was there, his armor off and his head in his hands. He looked up when Gamzee entered and stood, tottering his way over for a welcome hug._

_“Rough round of talks?”_

_“That’s an understatement. No one is willing to decide anything until they know what’s next, and I can’t tell them because I don’t know…”_

_Gamzee kissed the Chimeric’s head between the horns, then tugged the chest a little further into the block. “Well, I found a wriggling day present for you. Wanna take a look?”_

_The Chimeric backed up and let Gamzee lay the chest out in front of him. As he did, the Chimeric’s eyes went wide. “Thank fucking hell, he came through…”_

_“You know what his code means?”_

_“Twenty-two is the number of characters in the name he wants me to use. Only his TOL handle is long enough, but that’s twenty letters, so I probably need to use his quirk to make twenty-two. Then it’s encoded in a basic numeral cipher…”_

_The Chimeric found a scrap of discarded paper and calculated out the code, and when he entered it, the chest popped open on the first try. He began unpacking it, each object inside mystifying Gamzee. A bottle of deep green fluid? Clothing? Identification documents? A new palmhusk?_

_“What is all of this motherfucking shit?” Gamzee asked._

_The Chimeric laughed, for the first time in what felt like a perigee. “I can finally tell them. This is what’s next.”_


	61. The Paranoid

_Oberion leapt and dashed under Tavros as he held his arms up, trying to keep a clear view of the path ahead so he could guide his companion. Each jostling impact sent pain running up through his body. Only the Benevole’s saddle kept him in place, but not without pain._

_‘Help us,’ they had said._

_‘We’ll die without you,’ they had said._

_And even though Tavros and the Lodestar had their misgivings, they had felt there was no choice but to say yes to those wastrels, starved and covered in sunburns and blisters._

_He had to keep his connection with Oberion strong to keep up this speed, but he cast about for the small, quick creatures of the forest, hoping to find something useful. When he found a willing consciousness, a tiny nut creature, he gave it the order to go back, find the Lodestar, and tell him how she was. He had to keep going forward. He needed to find help._

_They were an auspisticeship, they had said. A yellowblood, the Portress, and two brownblood cloves, the Teamaker and Threader. They were going to Grizzhod, they had said. The ruddies had conquered an entire city, they had said, the twelve tribes united in majesty and victory as a beacon to all those who wanted to live a new life._

_Tavros had been afraid. But he had figured, even people he disagreed with deserved to live._

_Yeah fucking right._

_The trees thinned, and Tavros found himself on the edge of a wide road, paved with runoff ditches on each side, and more trees beyond it. Over the tops of the trees, he could see the tips of some golden hivestems. Tavros looked left and right down the road, waiting for some kind of vehicle to come, with someone he could beg to help._

_“Not that way,” the Portress had said when Tavros had shown them their long-ignored map. “We need to go west, to Grizzhod.”_

_“We know that,” the Lodestar had answered. “But directly west is a mountain we don’t have the equipment to climb. We’re going north, then west.”_

_And the Portress had screamed and screamed, calling them every dirty name in the book as her quadrantmates had intervened, trying to calm her down. They had succeeded, but only earned the party a few hours of peace before she started again._

_Waiting on the side of the road, Tavros cast his mind back to the animals, following the tether he had to the little nut creature and asked if it had found the Lodestar, and how she was doing._

_It saw her breathing. It saw her bleeding._

Not my Starshine, please not my Starshine!

_The Portress hadn’t stopped, no matter how they had tried to explain. “I’m a psionic, you know!” she had screamed. “I can fry you if you try to cross me! Don’t take us any closer to the Empire!”_

_He had wanted to tell her, ‘if you’re so smart, why were you dying in the forest?’ He had wanted to give them directions and then never see them again. But the Teamaker and Threader had been so kind, so apologetic for their paranoid auspistice, and they had begged the Lodestar and Tavros to help._

_If only Tavros had known what would happen. He’d have fed them to a cholerbear in an instant._

_But this road was deserted. Why was this road deserted? It was so big, they didn’t make roads this big unless there were many travelers, but no one was here! One side ran west, the road they would have mirrored in the forest on trails—was this because of the war? If the Lodestar died because the ruddies had fucked everything over yet again, Tavros might find it in him to give the Chimeric the same cholerbear treatment._

_He looked up again at the hivestems, gold tips gleaming against the sky. Those were the same hivestems the Portress had seen that set her off for the last time. “You’re turning us in! I know it! You’re traitors! Betrayers!”_

_“That’s just a marker on the map! We’re skirting to the side of it!” the Lodestar had answered._

_“It’s not! You’re demons, betrayers, both of you! You’re trying to stop us, you have been from the beginning! I never should have trusted you, die in a fire for all I care!”_

_And the Portress’s lovers had tried to stop her, Tavros had seen them try. But the Portress had been faster. She raised her hand, and before the Lodestar could raise one back, she had pushed. Her light had gripped the Lodestar and slammed her back, far, far back, until her body hit a tree so hard the branches had shaken. And then she had crumpled._

_The first thing Tavros had done was push an order into the space around them: HUNT. Every carnivorous creature that could feel his soul had heeded the call, howlbeasts stalked closer and raptor flapbeasts descended and venomous slitherbeasts squirmed forth, all with the Portress as their target. As the beasts had driven her and her companions off, Tavros had approached the Lodestar and realized he had no way to lift her. He couldn’t stoop low enough from his saddle to pick her up, and if he used the release straps, he couldn’t get back up without her help._

_And he had seen her blood on the tree trunk._

_‘Help us,’ they had said._

_Fuck them._

_Tavros had two options here. He could either go to the hivestems and directly petition their residents for help. There had to be cullers there who would help, and he and the Lodestar would finally lose their freedom forever. The other option was to choose one way down the road and search for a traveler, anyone who might be able to help. But what if the Lodestar bled out while Tavros searched for help that wasn’t coming?_

_A spark to the west, like headlights, told Tavros what to do. He needed that vehicle’s attention and fast._

_Urging Oberion to move back first, Tavros took a running start to leap over the drainage ditch and onto the road. Oberion’s hooves clacked on the paved surface, something he and Oberion had missed for perigees, before Tavros guided him to straighten his path and prepare to gallop again. He had no room to worry about what he was doing when his matesprit’s life, the bold, brave, beautiful Lodestar, his Starshine, his love, the last person in the world who still cared about him, hung in the balance._

_“HAYAA!”_

_With a shout to order him, Tavros charged at the vehicle like he was trying to joust with it. He felt fury and pain in his blood pusher, thrumming, and forcing him forward. The gap closed, and Tavros didn’t even flinch, and the distance between them shrank and shrank and Oberion felt afraid but Tavros insisted, commanded—_

_The vehicle veered to the side and screeched to a stop, a few scant feet away from hitting Tavros. The driver, a yellowblood with two sets of small curved horns, opened the door to yell at Tavros. “What the actual shit do you think you’re doing?! Are you out of your pan, what if I hadn’t stopped in time?!”_

_“Help me!” Tavros cried back. “My matesprit is hurt!”_

_“Call a hospital!”_

_“There’s no time! Please, I need help, I don’t want her to die!”_

_“Your cullers—”_

_“Either you help, or she dies! Please!”_

_The troll dislodged his glasses, a pair with one red lens and one blue, and gritted his teeth. “It just never stops, does it?” he grumbled, but then he nudged the vehicle to the side of the road and stepped out. “Fine. Take me to her.”_

_Tavros offered to let the stranger ride with him, but he shook his head, and showed he had his own psionic power, two-toned and powerful enough to let him fly in Oberion’s wake. Even though another psionic of his blood caste had hurt the Lodestar, Tavros knew he didn’t have enough time to wait for a different savior._

_They backtracked the way they came, as Tavros communed with more creatures to check on the Lodestar. Breathing, they said. Bleeding, they said._

Please, Starshine, I don’t want to be alone!

_Their rescuer kept pace with Tavros, but when he started to see the grand congregation of beasts surrounding the Lodestar, he slowed down. “What the shit…”_

_“They’re friends of mine,” Tavros explained. “I asked them to stay.”_

_“You can—”_

_He didn’t get a chance to ask what Tavros was capable of before the animals parted and let him see the Lodestar, still unconscious and still in need of help._

_“I can’t lift her,” Tavros explained. “But I need to… she needs help… I can’t lose her…”_

_The yellowblood nodded, and wrapped his own aura of red-blue lightning around the Lodestar. She lifted off the ground, and he even helped arrange her limbs in a curled-pupa position instead of a limp rag-doll pose._

_“Someone at the API can treat her,” the man explained. “I’ve got some clout there. I’ll just… come up with something to say by the time we arrive. And you’re coming too?”_

_Tavros nodded._

_“Great. Help me think of an excuse.”_

_They left the woods again, to the road and the vehicle, and then toward those distant, golden towers. And Tavros knew, this would be the last time he asked for or accepted help from anyone._

 

* * *

 

Dave knew these trees. He had spent long enough in dreambubbles to recognize them as Terezi’s trees. That was basically their name in his head now, Terezi Trees, the enormous ones with blue trunks and pink tops. He squinted at the treetops for her ‘hive,’ but couldn’t find it. So maybe he was in some other part of the forest? These could just be Terezi Trees not close to a Terezi Hive. But that sounded kind of boring. The good thing was, finding himself surrounded by alien flora did a good job of bringing him up to speed fast to the fact that he was asleep. None of that uncomfortable déjà vu memory shit. And maybe a nice walk in the woods could ease a troubled mind.

Asking Karkat to step into the Chimeric’s memory sounded too much like a suicide mission for Dave’s comfort. If he wanted someone to argue it wasn’t, Kanaya was probably the best person to ask, not a bossy Vriska or conniving Terezi or calculating Rose. But it didn't change what they were asking of Karkat. How would he feel about it? What if it didn’t work the way they wanted? What if it made Karkat feel even worse, given how his ancestral self never had a single problem with his version of Gamzee, apart from the cuddle-molestation?

Could Dave take his place in some way? It looked like the Chimeric just died and everyone else scurried about him reaching the end of their ancestor stories, or whatever. Dave was used to dying. Or, he was used to dead Daves, even though they were still the enemy and he never wanted to see another one as long as he lived. But he’d definitely rather see a dead Dave than a dead Karkat.

“Hey, Dave!”

Well, speak of the devil. Dave looked to his left and found Karkat a kinda ways away, close enough to see who he was through the gnarly roots between them. He put his hands in his pockets, cool dude style. Like he was fooling anyone. “Dane Cook put you to sleep, too?” he asked.

“I guess. Not sure how long since I fell asleep,” Karkat said, closing the distance to Dave with some carefully balanced hops. “But it looks like it’s potent as sopor slime for you.”

 _Dane Cook isn’t an ‘it.’_ That sent the same kind of discordant fritz through Dave’s body as the re-lived memory bubbles. And he remembered something else.

“Who are you?” he said.

“What the hell? Are you a doomed Dave and didn’t tell me?” Karkat responded.

And that was the wrong answer. The placid walk in the woods vibe incinerated into a fight-or-flight response. Dave pulled Caledfwlch from his sylladex and brandished it at the impostor.

“Woah, okay, okay, what the fuck?! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” The Karkat raised his hands and backed away a little bit, which suited Dave fine. If he sent a message and then never saw this… whatever it was… again, that would work fine.

“I’m letting you know that I’m onto your tricks,” Dave said. “You fooled me once, you’re not gonna fool me again.”

“Thrice,” the Karkat said.

“What?”

“This is our fourth… wait, no,” the Karkat paused, momentarily confused by his own words. “No, my mistake! This is our third time meeting, and our previous encounter was your second time fooled. But it’s clear these ruses won’t function anymore, will they?”

Dave gripped his sword tighter. “I think I’m just extra-pissed that you think _now_ is the right time to brag about fooling me twice! I got this sword, and it’s super badass, and it’s Welsh, and it’s _bad news_ for you!”

The Karkat’s raised hands lowered slightly, like he was trying to placate Dave. “Right, right, I understand that. That’s a very deadly weapon you’re holding. And I don’t mean to brag in this instance, just… I don’t actually know what to do. I think I assumed you would be friendly to me a little longer.”

“Dane Cook is a human male who claims he’s an actor. The real Karkat would never fall asleep during a Dane Cook movie.”

“Fuck me sideways…” the Karkat grumbled, but he regained some of his composure. “Well, since you know who you’re talking to now—”

“I don’t think I do,” Dave interrupted.

“I’ll get to that in a second!” the Karkat snapped back. “What I want you to understand is that I am not your enemy, and I am seeking something you’ve found. While I would have _preferred_ to do this surreptitiously, your involvement appears to be necessary, and I’m starting to realize that if I want you to help me, I need to help you first.”

“By pretending to be my best friend?”

“Are you two still just friends? Did you not take my advice?”

Dave felt his face get hot, but he ignored it and shook his sword at the fake Karkat again. “I’m not taking _any_ advice until you tell me what the hell is going on!”

“What’s ‘going on’ is that there’s a casting call in these bubbles,” the Karkat said. “A fairy troll with a sign like yours is recruiting ghosts to re-enact the last stand of the Chimeric. And you don’t want to put _your_ Karkat through such a grisly scene, is that correct?”

“So what, you think we’re just going to let the likes of you be Karkat?”

“I know that you are a person who finds easy ways to do hard things,” the Karkat told him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s an insult.”

“Not at all. I’m here to propose an easy way to do a hard thing. I know another interested party—a friendly party—who would be happy to speak with your Karkat during the re-enactment. Let me take the sacrificial role instead. You’ll see all you want from the past and spare the Karkat that you truly care for from the pain.”

Distrust still hummed through Dave like electricity through copper, but this Karkat’s idea was… really fucking appealing. But he still had his sense about him. “This offer is sounding a little too good to be true,” Dave told him. “I’m going to need a mountain of evidence dumped on my doorstep like you’re the world’s shittiest Santa impersonator giving me the entire haul of the nice list before I’m gonna consider trusting you, especially since you’ve been sneaking around and tricking people for so long.”

The Karkat nodded, and then he changed.

“…Oh.”


	62. Largely Regarding Love

So this is his idea a what to do next?

_ The spread of equipment looked impressively thorough. The Chimeric spread out his treasure trove of clothing, makeup, colored eye lenses, prosthetic horns, false-bottomed shoes, synthetic blood, reams of paperwork, and more. Eridan couldn’t imagine a single detail he had forgotten. And he had some farfetched ideas about entering the caverns and stealing a matriorb, with neat little arguments about why this would help the cause. They’d gain more bargaining power against the Compasse. If they hatched and raised their own mother grub, they could secure independent reproduction and raise wigglers without exposure to culling culture. Like their own divergent evolution. _

_ “This is all well and good, but what do you really want?” Eridan asked him. _

_ “I explained myself very clearly.” _

_ “But not fully. Or will you swear to us you’re not holding anythin’ back?” _

_ The Chimeric closed his eyes and huffed. Even after all these sweeps, he didn’t like talking about his little secret mission. “This is the culmination of everything we’ve been working for, both as revolutionaries and as servants of prophecy. The absolute last piece of the ‘errand’ I’ve been running is in the brooding caverns, and while we’re down there, we might as well recruit and take a matriorb of our own.” _

_ “I appreciate the honesty came without pullin’ teeth, but what if no jadebloods are willin’ to leave their posts?” _

_ “One will,” the Mirthful mentioned. “That Sunnybitch, the dancer.” _

_ “Yes, I know she’ll come. And there’s sure to be others who will, at least a handful.” _

_ “So all of this for a handful a jadebloods?” _

_ “ _ And  _ a Matriorb,  _ and _ the last piece of the code that the prophesized wigglers will need in order to escape the apocalypse.” _

_ “What code is that? How is it supposed to help them?” _

_ “Seafarer, I understand your questions come from a place of concern and you are testing my ideas to ensure that they will lead to victory, but all  _ you _ need to know is that it will.” _

_ “Which means you have no idea how this code works.” _

_ “I know it needed tweaks, and I’ve made them. But other than that, I just know the wigglers need this code intact. The chimera’s visions haven’t been wrong yet.” _

_ “And that’s how you know some jades will come with us, right?” the Tameless asked. _

_ “Yes. Specifically twenty-six of them.” The Chimeric fixed Eridan with a mild glare, like an ‘I told you so.’ _

_ Frustrated with the level of nonsense around him, Eridan folded his arms. “So what will you need for this foretold mission?” _

_ “Two trolls will enter the caverns. And I need an entourage of about two hundred to escort us back safely. We need our best and brightest, so I won’t be recruiting from one tribe alone. I expect to gather a few of the commanders with me, too.” _

_ “The two enterin’ the caverns, one a them is yourself I assume?” _

_ “Yes. And the other should be the Tameless.” _

_ Her eyes widened at the suggestion. “Wait, me?” _

_ “You can fit the costume about as well as I can. And I know you’ll need to dust off these skills, but you are very good at pretending to be someone you’re not.” He turned his gaze more directly to her. “And of all the people eligible to accompany me, I trust you the most.” _

_ “But what about you? How will you know what to do?” _

_ “I admit I don’t know much at all about what we’ll need to do once we’re in the caverns, but I promise, even if I can’t see where the flagstones are, I know where to step.” _

_ The Tameless didn’t move for a minute, but then she nodded. “Okay. I think I can do it.” _

_ “Very well then! That’s all I need to discuss. Seafarer, you’ll have command of Tribe One while we’re away, but rest assured this is a temporary assignment. If you tire of the responsibility, feel free to appoint a new commander of the tribe.” _

_ And as the Chimeric said this, he took an envelope of paper and slid it toward Eridan. He didn’t know what else to do but pick it up. It was thick for an envelope, but still couldn’t contain more than a few pages.  _ Special instructions?

_ “I’ll make the speech about it by tomorrow evening. This new goal could address some of the… friction.” _

_ The Mirthful placed his hand on the Chimeric’s back, rubbing gently. The Tameless instead focused on Eridan’s envelope. “What’s that?” she asked, leaning in to peer at it. _

_ Almost indignantly, Eridan snatched it up and slid it in his coat pocket. “A shoppin’ list. None a your business.” _

_ She stuck her tongue out at him again, but he knew she would have bared her teeth in the past. Maybe out of respect for the dead, and how that one particular seadweller had died, she was showing a little more sensitivity to who she threatened to bite. _

_ “So we’re done here, then?” Eridan asked, standing. _

_ “We are. Tameless, I’ll need you to stay for a minute, these clothes and horns need fitting before we go.” _

_ Eridan left them to it, feeling the envelope heavy on his chest. Maybe the Chimeric wanted everyone to think that it would all be fine, but Eridan couldn’t believe him. Their ships were damaged, their roads blocked, their movement fracturing. He burned to read the Chimeric’s letter as soon as he could, because something about it made Eridan feel like it contained their last hope, or some sort of answer about how to get out of this. _

_ But Eridan didn’t want to give the Chimeric the satisfaction of knowing he read it immediately. _

 

* * *

 

Rose didn’t know what brought the urge on. Things had been going very well for several day-sized chunks of time in a row. The Chimeric’s journal had filled in some gaps of her knowledge and left a few other delightful holes for her to contemplate in idle moments. She and Kanaya had shared a dream together and crossed paths with Porrim, and they had spent a very enjoyable ‘afternoon’ together feeding metal apples to robotic horses. She did now have a few pangs of regret that one of her tangential interests, or maybe just the opinion that horses were cute, had been more or less corrupted by the existence of prominent individuals who identified with-slash-as horses to an uncomfortable level. But no, that didn’t have anything to do with the situation at hand.

Maybe it was the metal. Maybe it was the rings in Porrim’s lip and eyebrows. Maybe it was a sense of teenage rebellion she had never quite worked out of her system.

But Rose wanted to get a piercing.

“Shall we be attempting to alchemize follicle coloring products as well?” Kanaya said with a smirk as Rose thumbed through her sylladex to try and decide what to use as raw materials.

“You think I should dye my hair?” Rose asked. “I like the contrast between light hair and dark lipstick.”

“It’s definitely fetching. Maybe a single streak?”

“Oh, or just the ends…” She couldn’t find any object that satisfied her as a starting point, so she just took hold of her sylladex’s root card and warned Kanaya, “Things are about to get messy in here, so please accept my apologies in advance.”

“Why would you need to—”

Maybe that wasn’t enough warning then, because when Rose removed her root card and sent her sylladex spilling out onto the floor, Kanaya shrieked and jumped aside, clutching her skirts as her evasive footfalls barely avoided the detritus now smothering the floor.

“Whoops.”

“You are not sorry at all!”

“Will you forgive me anyway?”

Kanaya paused. “…If I am included in this exercise as well.”

“Darling, I thought that was assumed!”

“Do I have a role as a stylistic director?”

“I don’t have very precise control over what comes out of the alchemiter.”

“I understand that part. But you’ll listen to me when I say something looks good or not, won’t you?”

“Deal.”

And then Kanaya smiled, a brilliant, eye-sparkling grin that showed the points of her fangs. “Then please accept my apologies in advance.”

Rose braced herself, tucking her feet close together in anticipation of the deluge of  _ stuff _ about to hit the floor, but a disappointing clatter of only a few objects followed.

“Fuck,” Kanaya said. “I suppose my chastity modus would not allow me to discharge my entire sylladex at once.”

“What’s the logic of your chastity modus again?” Rose asked. She needed to investigate the raw materials at her feet, but the puzzle of Kanaya’s sylladex piqued her curiosity.

“I can access objects precisely when they are needed and not a moment sooner.”

“So what determines ‘need?’”

“That logic or its source has never been specified.”

“So what if your relationship status changed in such a way that your chastity was no longer considered a virtue?”

Kanaya fixed Rose with a look that made her heart hammer and spine shiver. “Miss Lalonde, while I don’t fully comprehend how those statements connect, I think I should reprimand you for inappropriate discussion of a lady’s romantic history.”

“So long as you aren’t considering changing your mind about more recent choices, I’ll endure your reprimands,” Rose answered, raising her chin. “Do your worst, rainbow drinker!”

Even with a minefield of their possessions strewn about the floor, Kanaya picked across the room with three easy steps and wrapped her arms around Rose, pulling her close for a hug. Rose giggled and hugged back, and in another moment she felt Kanaya’s nose brush her neck. Her skin felt so cool, like a perfect thermal equilibrium, but the trace of that touch made her squeak and squirm, because she knew what was coming next. And Kanaya knew she knew, and peppered tiny kisses along her neck, terrifying and tantalizing.

“Wait… wait, Kanaya—Kanaya this is a public spa— _ aaaace _ !”

Teeth pinched her neck and a full-body shudder passed through her, a counterpoint of lightning pain against the tight embrace. And after a moment, Kanaya released, and before Rose could even breathe she bit again, and then  _ again, _ relentless, relished—

The words that came out of Rose’s mouth did not match the symphony in her body. “Y-You have good teeth…”

Rose felt Kanaya’s chuckle, and she lifted her face to kiss Rose lightly on the lips. Only when Kanaya pulled away from the hug entirely did Rose take proper stock of her body. “I’m not bleeding?”

“And that’s the reprimand,” Kanaya said. “Now, you said you wanted to use the alchemiter?”

_ What did I do to deserve a girlfriend this sadistically amazing?  _ “That is definitely a statement I made.”

They took up the task together, first separating out the useful from the useless in what they had dumped on the floor, picking about half of it up and leaving the rest of it lying around. Rose theorized they should begin with things made from metal, and Kanaya proposed component parts that could be used to give the bits more style and flair. For about a half hour straight, all they could get were ridiculous statuettes and knickknacks that seemed to take the least practical elements of the materials possible and patched them together. Even shrinking them smaller couldn’t make them resemble jewelry. Still, Rose kind of liked a few of them: anything that resembled a monstrous creature of indescribable proportions made her smile, and they somehow ended up with a bronzed feather duster that reminded Rose of home.

“I wish the carapacians had been more intricate in their aesthetics,” Kanaya said. “Their architecture remains incredible, covered in fancy pointy things, but apart from the Queen and King’s rings they did not adorn themselves with much finery.”

“Carapacians, that’s it!” Rose snapped her finger and gave Kanaya a kiss on the cheek. “Wish me luck!”

“Yes, but why?”

Rose revealed the ‘why’ to be negotiations with the Mayor to use an empty can as part of their experiments. When that negotiation dragged on for fifteen minutes, Kanaya arrived and provided Rose with some much-needed backup. Even still, it took an hour to convince the Mayor to part with any discarded cylinder of aluminum, and that did not include the time lost when Dave and Karkat showed up and everyone had a really awkward conversation about whose ‘turn’ it was to be in Can Town, and Rose brought up the only reason they would even care about something like ‘taking turns’ would be if Dave and Karkat wanted a degree of privacy for… reasons.

“Rose, will you put your eyebrows away, I’m just saying this town ain’t big enough for the four of us.”

“We could expand into the hallways,” Rose retorted. “Or, I’m sure Kanaya and I would happily make our leave if you explain to Karkat about the homoerotic subtext inherent in the Western genre.”

The Knight of Time then retreated, and Rose and Kanaya successfully bartered away the first half dozen volumes of  _ The Time that Happens Between Nightfall and Daybreak _ and Rose’s old scouter. It seemed like a steep price for the single empty can, but Rose had a feeling it would be the key.

And the key it was. With the introduction of a metal tallcircle, Kanaya and Rose quickly bent the alchemiter to their will, spitting out crowns of aluminum, and then other metals like iron and silver and gold (Rose took a little satisfaction in solving the most ancient riddle of alchemy) that could translate into necklaces, earrings, loose gemstones and treasure-like artifacts. Rose even upgraded the bronzed feather duster into a platinum feather duster. Kanaya produced a headdress dripping with emeralds that the machine described as ‘Imperial Diadem of the Ornamentally Dubious.’ Frankly, a few minutes into this treasure revelry, Rose no longer cared for any kind of bodily modification. This was fun on its own.

Then the alchemiter spat out a ring.

It was a simple thing, gold with a single gem in the center, rather unadorned compared to the majestic treasure the machine had coughed up moments earlier, but Rose stopped short and just… looked at it for a second.

“Engagement ring,” Kanaya read aloud. “A ring for engagement in what, exactly?”

“Joyful and holy matrimony,” Rose said. God, her face was burning. No, play it cool, it might not. Just… say something witty and fire up the alchemiter and make it produce something else, anything else, and then maybe Rose and Kanaya could both forget that had even happened…

“Oh, is this a human marriage thing?” Kanaya said off-handedly, like… like she knew what it was but didn’t  _ know _ what it  _ was, _ this beautiful alien vampire lady who swung chainsaws and stitched skirts and was still wearing the Imperial Diadem of the Ornamentally Dubious and it was garish beyond all sense of taste but framed her face in shimmering jewels and Rose wanted to do something really fucking impulsive.

“I love you.”

Kanaya blinked at her. “What?”

“I just—felt like that needed to be said? I’ve felt like saying it for a while and now seems like a particularly opportune moment, in light of the… the…”

“Rose, it seems like it’s bothering you that you said that,” Kanaya said, somehow  _ calm _ through all of this. “We’ve been matesprits for some time now, so I already knew your felt flushed. Not that the sudden announcement of your feelings isn’t charming, it definitely is!”

She hid her face in her hands. And that didn’t quite feel sufficient, so she rummaged around on the floor until she managed to find a familiar and favorite velvet pillow with which she could smother herself and hasten her death of embarrassment. 

_ Is it Heroic or Just to meet one’s end by humiliation? It’s probably Just that I die trying to flirt with a beautiful girl! _

“I do not know if this perplexing response is yet cause for concern and I would greatly appreciate assistance in discerning what the most helpful response would be in this scenario?” Kanaya’s voice rose in proportion with some rising panic, which kind of made Rose want to die all over again. It wasn’t right of her to make her poor beautiful alien matesprit worry. So she pulled her face away from the pillow and hugged it to her chest instead.

“This is a remnant of Earth culture that I have apparently decided to preserve for no obvious benefit to myself,” Rose began. “But humans have a distinction between flushed feelings based on duration and intensity. So when a person stops saying ‘I like you’ and says ‘I love you’ instead, it’s a… big deal.”

“ _ Oh _ .” That was the sound of Kanaya catching on. Rose died just a little bit more. This was worse than someone discovering her writing journals. She wanted to find a hole to crawl into. Or something to drink. She knew drinking was off the table, so that just made Plan A: Live In A Hole Forever more appealing.

Kanaya approached Rose, apparently not put off by her brash and unsettling declaration or anything else for that matter. Then she touched Rose’s chin with just two fingers, and with the lightest pressure Rose had ever felt, she tilted her face up and kissed her, soft as a snowfall.

It lasted for just a moment, before Kanaya pulled back. She smiled, just a little bit, just a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth, and she said “I love you, too.”

Rose blinked at her, this angel vampire alien with incredible lipstick and glorious patience and brilliant wit, presently encrusted in gemstones matching her Trollain text, and she just got told ‘I love you’ and that meant this was Rose’s first and most successful romantic relationship because through all of the shit Kanaya  _ loved her _ like actually loved her and she said so and Rose said so and—

“…Rose, are you crying?! Is crying typically involved in the exchange of intensified flushed confirmations?!”

“No, no this is just me.” Rose rubbed at her eyes. “I think I’m just… delightfully overwhelmed.”

“Oh, my mistake.”

Rose smiled again, and this time slipped her arms over Kanaya’s shoulders. “Dear, sweet Kanaya, none of this is a mistake.”

And those were the last smart words Rose managed to say that ‘afternoon.’ Mostly she did herself a favor and started speaking with kisses instead.


	63. The Favor of the Ram

_When Aradia woke, she couldn’t find the Huntsman. Feeling her heart dipped in ice water, she kicked and flailed and tried to sit up, but hands quickly pressed against her. Some voices shushed her, said things like ‘easy’ and ‘hold on,’ but she didn’t want to! The last thing she had known, the Portress had shoved her and she didn’t know what had happened to the Huntsman! She drew on her psionics_ —

_A pain like someone cleaving her skull in half burst forth from the back of her head. She cried and reeled, her head too heavy, too terrible, too much, she couldn’t even breathe!_

Where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he?!

_“Just calm down! I’ll explain everything if you stay still enough to listen!” a new voice announced._

_Aradia could just whimper, the pain in her head making the entire head spin, but she laid back on the wherever-she-was and hoped the voice would take that as evidence of compliance._

_“Okay, good,” the voice said, pacified. She heard its owner take a deep breath. “You are safe, and the man you were traveling with is safe. You are receiving mediculling at the Aurelian Psionic Institute, a community of goldblood psionics who provide caste-congruent protection to each other.”_

_He had lost her already. Caste-protection congru-onic, she didn’t care! At least the voice had the good sense to lead with the information that mattered: the Huntsman is safe._

_The helpful expositor continued: “Our resident chief mediculler is Delegate Molybden, and she’s diagnosed you with a concussion. You’ll need to be under supervision for another few days, and at that point, you’ll be released into the custody of the nearest cooler-blood able to provide for your care.”_

Custody? _Aradia stayed lying down, but she opened her eyes to finally see who was speaking to her. There were three trolls dressed in yellow around her, one in familiar mediculler scrubs who was probably Molydben, one with a clipboard and spindly horns, and one sitting next to her with two sets of small horns and peculiar red-blue shades. He gave Aradia a small smile._

 _“Yeah, you’re definitely going to need culling after this. Living in the wilderness for so long, maybe you didn’t know, but there’s a war going on out there. We all need to cull each other, now more than ever. Even though you’re a psionic, you’re not a goldblood, so there’s no place for you in the API. We’ll take care of you temporarily, and then do everything in our power to send you to someone_ wholly dedicated _to your care and well-being.”_

_One of his eyebrows raised above the other, sly and sarcastic. She got the feeling he considered the Huntsman ‘wholly dedicated to her care’ and might look the other way to let her reunite with him. But then again, if he was some kind of trickster, could he really be trusted? Her fear stayed stubbornly knotted in her chest._

_The mediculler, Molydben, interjected with some advice. “No use of your psionics for the next week, not even to flip a light switch. Then we’ll do another scan for brain damage and check for complications.”_

_“...Thank you,” Aradia whispered. The clipboard troll set the reports down and left while Molydben did a few more checks, poking and prodding Aradia before satisfied with her results._

_“Let her get some rest, Twinny,” Molydben scolded the troll sitting beside Aradia._

_“In a minute, Moldy,” he said. When his colleague left, the troll scratched the end of his nose and laughed nervously. “I guess I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Twinhorn, one of the other Delegates. Not Twinny.”_

_“I knew,” Aradia said._

_“You knew my name?”_  
_  
“I knew Twinny wasn’t your name.”_

_“Right… right, of course.” Something about him looked so exhausted and pained._

_“How long was I out?” Aradia asked._

_“Day and a half, about.”_

_“And how long were you awake?”_

_“...Longer than that.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Had to make sure they didn’t call the cullers on you. Your matesprit is waiting.” He laughed again, dry and humorless. “Besides, it’s not like I can make things worse by helping you.”_  
_  
Aradia stiffened. “Are you…”_

_“No. At least, I don’t think of myself like that.” Twinhorn took a deep breath. “I have friends on both sides of this mess. Maybe I’m an idiot for not picking one, but you should be fine. Your matesprit has more than enough ‘friends’ to get you to Grizzhod.”_

_“We’re not…” Aradia tried to sit up straighter, but her heavy, aching head wouldn’t let her. “We’re not going there.”_

_“Where are you going?”_

_“Anywhere. So many people have hurt us. We just want to take care of each other and leave the rest of the world alone.”_

_Twinhorn nodded, his face tilted down. “It’s not going to be easy to travel anymore. I think the Compasse’s new strategy will be to starve the ruddies of recruitment. Strict curfews and patrols.”_

_“What should we do, then?”_

_“Stay still for a while. The territory outside of the API is uninhabited, it’s some kind of preserve that none of us touch. We’re pretty agoraphobic around these hivestems. I’ll give you news when it’s safe to travel again.”_

_“You would?”_

_“I think it’s about time I made friends on the third side of this conflict and stopped being a useless two-timer. I want everyone to be okay, and I can start with you.”_

Making everyone okay… _Aradia understood that impulse. It was the one that had led her and the Huntsman to try helping ruddies in the first place, and make so many other mistakes with their trust and charity. She wanted everyone to be okay, and barring everyone, she’d settle for the Huntsman being okay._

_Aradia closed her eyes again, and so she only heard when another troll arrived and asked for Twinhorn. He stood to leave, and Aradia said, “Wait, please.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Can you… open a window?”_

_She heard a hum and crackle of psionic power that faded into birdsong carried by a soft breeze. “Thank you.”_

_As soon as the other trolls left, Aradia heard that chirping grow closer, and then a rustle of wings and a pinch of clawed feet on her stomach. She opened her eyes to see a tiny brown bird, peering curiously back at her._

_“I’m fine,” Aradia told the bird. “Concussion. I need some rest, and we have a friend here. He’ll let me go back to you.”_

_The bird hopped and then sat, nestling itself in the folds of Aradia’s blanket. She let her eyes slide closed again, the tiny bird on her torso feeling like the hand of the Huntsman, comforting and steady._

_And she slept._

 

* * *

 

“…Hang on a fucking second, are we playing Fiduspawn or poker?”

“You’re asking that now, dude?” Dave gave Karkat a smirk as he shoved some red-yellow eggs into the center of the table. “Right when I’m about to smoke you with my full house?”

“Hive.”

“Nah dude, it’s house.”

“I think, in the troll edition of multi-card chance games, it’s not a full house,” Rufioh added. “We’d call it a rancorous hive, on Beforus.”

“ _Watashi nara rankou to yobu no._ ”

“No one else calls it that, doll. And no one should.”

Damara gave Rufioh a maliciously insincere smile and drew up more cards from the center deck. No one stopped her, so Karkat figured she was allowed to do that, maybe. This game made no sense, but Karkat would still rather be in the dreambubble with these assholes playing bad card games than anywhere else in the Furthest Ring. It kind of reminded Karkat how much he had missed hanging out with people, even people he kind of hated.

Well, pretended to hate.

Turns continued with very little rhyme or reason. It kind of seemed like the game was no longer to bluff his opponents that he had a superior hand, but instead bluff that the actions he was taking were fair and made sense within the rules. Karkat actually picked up the pot that way by claiming it was part of his new role as Coin Hoard Protector. Rufioh actually took some of it back, claiming a ‘withdrawal,’ but he also definitely withdrew more than he had bet in earlier rounds. Or at least, Karkat thought he did.

Even as he was playing, Karkat felt kind of distracted. Kanaya’s request that he join the ancestor memory fight weighed on him, first in the sense that he didn’t want to go forth and experience death again (or maybe worse, go forth and fail to do what everyone needed him to do) and second in the way it really seemed to matter to Kanaya. She cared a lot about this, and she cared about him, and wanted him to participate.

God, he had been such an asshole to Kanaya through all of that too, not trusting his own memories of all the times she had been there for him. He owed her a thank you card. If he was still leader, he’d give her a promotion to his second in command. That had supposedly been Terezi for a while, but she had used it to trick him into being the client to her server and then she had fucked with his hive and put the load gaper out in the middle of nowhere for no reason and a bunch of other nonsense Karkat didn’t even have the time to remember. The point was Kanaya was great and definitely a more trustworthy second in command than Terezi.

But yeah, murders were on his mind. And some of the irony was not lost on him that he was sitting here playing not-poker with the descendants of the two trolls most responsible for fucking up Karkat’s ancestral incarnation. The Huntsman had brought an army to oppose him and the Starload apparently made the call to shoot him. But here everyone was, being pretty friendly to each other. It was a little surreal, and part of why he never liked ancestor lore in the first place. It fucked up perfectly normal and innocent relationships with baggage about ‘expectations’ and ‘destiny.’

…Wait, Lodestar, not Starload. Lodestar. Karkat kind of hadn’t been paying attention when Terezi passed him that nugget of information. Fuck.

Damara laughed at something and swapped some of her cards with ones in the discard. Rufioh called her out on it, but the two just started up a debate, with Dave jumping in to indiscriminately support the losing side. He found himself watching Damara a little closer, noticing all of her expressions. Sly smiles, indignant frowns, a kind of dry ‘are you joking?’ look, and her standard resting face which read to Karkat like ‘I have seen and survived far worse than you, don’t try me.’

If Karkat could be half as badass as her, he felt like his life would get a lot easier. And it made him feel all the guiltier for not keeping the Chimeric’s journal private like she told him to. He had to say something, right? He needed to say something.

“Hey, uh… Damara,” Karkat began. “You know that book you lent me? That… romance novel?”

Damara turned to Karkat, an eyebrow raised. “ _Un?_ ”

“First of all, it’s a fucked up book. Why do you even own something that fucked up? Where did you get it?”

“ _Nande watashi no poruno korekushon ni kyoumi aru no? Kono uchuujin no ko to ecchi shiteiru desho._ ”

Rufioh hissed. “Hey, Vantas, just letting you know, she’s in a, kind of a mood again? So I’m not translating, just… thought you should know.”

“Okay, I don’t need you to translate, this is fine. I just want to let her know…” Fuck, how was he going to describe this? “As… fucked-up as that book is, a few of my other friends have read it.”

Damara seemed to glance at him. It was hard to tell with her ghost eyes, but he got the feeling she did. “ _Un?_ ”

“Just people on the meteor. And they know this is some restricted shit, so it’s not going to get around anymore. Especially not to…” What did she call Kankri? “Fwoot-man.”

Dave and Rufioh both stared at Karkat, black and white eyes unreadable but the rest of their faces showing a kind of perplexed disgust.

“ _Fwoot-man?_ ” Dave repeated like he was naming his least favorite bodily excretion. “Are you trying to speak Troll Japanese and had a stroke in the middle of your sentence?”

“Yeah, I don’t get… what’s going on here either,” Rufioh added oh-so-helpfully.

But Damara smiled, a big, beaming smile with a rusty edge. “ _M_ _yutanto-chan, watashi no kimochi wa tsutaeta no ka! Ureshii!_ ” And she reached out and ruffled Karkat’s hair, her ghost hand icy cold and insubstantial but still somehow present. “ _Uchuujin ga anata wo fakku shinain dattara, itsudemo watashi ni kiite ne. Yasashiku shite, nandomo nuite ageru kara._ ”

“Uuuugh, Karkat, she’s being gross again,” Rufioh said, almost mirroring Dave’s horror from moments earlier.

“I thought you weren’t translating,” Dave called him out.

“I’m not, I just need someone else to understand, how weird she’s being!

“I understand plenty, fairy man!” Karkat spat. At least if they focused on the doubtlessly gross and sexual nature of Damara’s words, Rufioh wouldn’t notice their content. And now Karkat basically had his answer that she wasn’t angry about sharing the journal, so long as it stayed out of Kankri’s hands. Karkat could handle that with no issue. Fuck his dancestor.

And as Damara laughed her weird ‘fufufu’ laugh and Dave delivered burns to Rufioh’s already suffering form, Karkat felt… like he didn’t hate anything. Like a heavy snuggleplane or a hearty, healthy cup of grubsoup applied directly to his pump biscuit, he felt okay. Or at least fine.

Maybe… this is what feeling ‘good’ felt like.

No one won PokerSpawn in the end, since the rules had grown too convoluted to determine any kind of victor, and also because Karkat woke up after a thunderous but normal shudder through the meteor’s metal hull. When Dave joined Karkat in the plane of the waking, he reported that Rufioh and Damara would definitely be down to play again.

“It’s kind of funny, they have some really awful drama between them, but still somehow get along,” Dave commented.

“Yeah, it’s funny…” Karkat said. “But I’m thinking about something else.”

“What?”  
  
“About the Chimeric’s last stand and the recruitment for the memory.”

“Oh,” Dave said. “You know you don’t have to do that just because they tell you to, right? We’ll find some other way that doesn’t involve sacrificing you and all.”

“No, I’m not worried about that. Or it doesn’t bother me. I just… I feel like I want to give it a shot. And maybe it’s going to suck, and it might not even work, but I think the closure is going to be worth it.”

Dave nodded. “I guess… it’s cool you’ve decided, then. We’ll let the girls know eventually, I think Vriska is still picking ghosts with Aradia to fill out the roster. We’ve got time."

Karkat smiled, and reached out to hold Dave’s hand again. He had time, and he felt good. He hoped he could get used to both of those attributes sticking around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damara’s dialogue is once again translated by the magnificent MostlyHarmless:
> 
> \- I call it an orgy.  
> \- Hm?  
> \- Why are you interested in my porn stash? I thought you were fucking this alien boy here.  
> \- Hm?  
> \- My little mutant, my feelings reached you! I’m so glad! If the alien will not fuck you, ask me any time. I think I will allow myself to be gentle, and ensure you climax many times.


	64. Into the Darkness

_ “…You know, I’ve done this before.” _

_ Nepeta glanced to her left. “Huh?” _

_ “You missed it because you left the celebration early, but after it was all over, a Mistress helped me and my moirail make… travel arrangements. She gave me some of her clothes, even tailored them, so we could pass undetected.” The Chimeric took a controlled breath. “She would hate me for what we’re doing now.” _

_ Nepeta said nothing. Speaking any longer about a criminal escape would be dangerous on this public transport vehicle, and even if it was safe, Nepeta didn’t know what to say. They had boarded this long-distance troll hauler hours ago in another city so that the other passengers would rotate on and off and not suspect them. Nepeta just felt grateful this meant they got seats, where she could pull her feet out of her stiff and terrible fake shoes without causing a scene. The trolls around them paid them no mind, all murmuring to each other in small groups, but the noise wasn’t enough for Nepeta to be comfortable speaking freely. _

_ Nepeta had never seen so many jadebloods in her life. They were mixed together with members of other blood castes, their friends and quadrantmates making the journey to see them off, but there was still at least one jade for every other troll. She and the Chimeric were the only ones without other-colored companions, but the way they stuck to each other at least looked like it deflected suspicion. They were just two freshly-titled trolls preparing for their first tour of service together. No big deal. _

_ These contacts were sticky, and made everything look greener than it should. The weight of her prosthetic horns, sealed atop hers, put a crick in her neck too. The dress she could tolerate, but after two sweeps of barefoot freedom, the mission-critical shoes made her legs restless. The Chimeric seemed to be doing alright sitting still and not letting this get to him. The contacts in his eyes and makeup contouring his face still made Nepeta double-take, unsure if she had lost track of the Chimeric in transit, but she just had to remember his disguise. Between the makeup and the new, taller horns, no one looked twice. But this was only the beginning. _

_ The multi-passenger vehicle brought its passengers to a flat stretch of pavement, where a few other similar high-capacity vehicles stood, letting their occupants out to mill around. The pavement had a slope to it, almost like a funnel, narrowing down and pointing toward the front of a stone bunker built into a hill. Halfway there, some ropes and bars divided the asphalt stretch, and some very serious-looking trolls in jade-trimmed coats directed for only jadebloods to proceed beyond that point. Nepeta didn’t breathe until she saw a few jades pass, confident that these sentries were only judging with a glance. _

_ Nepeta stayed close to the Chimeric. What other option did she have? Neither of them knew what to do here. She looked around to see if they could imitate someone, but this fresh off of the vehicle, no one seemed to be focused on the cavern ahead. A few people were making out indecently. Others were crying and patting faces. The display probably counted as lurid, but Nepeta didn’t feel shame over witnessing it, and there was only so much ‘decency’ you could require of quadrantmates about to separate for a hundred sweeps. _

_ The Chimeric moved his bag from his back to the ground, reaching down to dig in it. He produced two folders labeled with their new names. ‘Mothdust’ was to be the Chimeric, and ‘the Cultivan’ was Nepeta. But now they were standing in the middle of the vehicle lot holding their authorization papers, and they  _ still _ had no idea what to do. _

_ “Are you new, too?” _

_ Nepeta looked at the voice and saw another jadeblood holding a near-identical folder of papers. She had curved horns with their tips nearly touching each other, a tall, broad build, and a nervous overbite. _

_ “Yes,” Nepeta answered. The longer the Chimeric could go without speaking, the longer his ruse would last. “You?” _

_ “First tour, yeah.” She stepped closer and pressed her papers to her chest so she had a hand free to extend. “Name’s Monnarch, two n’s! But I’m still getting used to it, you know? Being titled is so weird.” _

_ “I know exactly what you mean,” Nepeta agreed with some vigorous nodding. “I’m the Cultivan, and this is my matesprit, Mothdust.” _

_ They all shook hands, and Monnarch looked a little quizzical, setting Nepeta’s hackles on edge. “Nice to meet both of you… but I heard quadrants don’t last in the caverns. Like, you just  _ have _ to spend so much time together, and after you see your beloved or despised caked in muck, the magic just kinda… wears off?” _

_ It was relationship gossip, not true suspicion. “If we don’t last, then we don’t last. But I feel better having her here,” Nepeta said, taking hold of the Chimeric’s hand again. _

_ Monnarch shrugged. “I guess that’s mature,” she said. “Are you waiting for anyone?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Me neither. My friends just threw me a big going-away party back at my hive, so I don’t have anyone else to say goodbye to.” She jabbed her thumb toward the roped-off filter. “Should we just… go in? It’s not even like it’s sunny out, so there’s not much we’re missing here.” _

_ The reflexive fear of the sun shivered down Nepeta’s spine, but she had to be a jade, and they had nothing to fear from the deadly ball of radioactive fire. “You’re right. I’m… I’m gonna miss it, though. The sunshine. Just so bright, y’know? I love it.” _

_ Monnarch patted Nepeta on the shoulder empathetically, and then they started the walk toward the cavern. Nepeta felt a small amount of gratitude that a troll like Monnarch was their new companion. She stood taller and wider than both of them, but she was younger, so she helped Nepeta and the Chimeric pass the first sentries without any suspicion. Monnarch kept talking to them, about her home and friends, and Nepeta did her best to just make Monnarch keep talking so she wouldn’t ask too many questions. _

_ “What about you, Mothdust?” she directed to the Chimeric once. “What’s your story?” _

_ Nepeta jumped in. “Sorry, she’s  _ very _ shy. It’ll probably be ten sweeps before she says a word to anyone but me.” _

_ The Chimeric gave a small smile and brushed some of his hair behind his ear, a demure little gesture backing up this story. _

_ Monnarch shrugged. “I hope the other auxiliatrices are fine with that.” _

_ When they reached the bunker, the heavy door was propped open for them to go inside. More jadebloods, probably a hundred, queued together in preparation to give over their documents to some clerks at the front. Nepeta could hear snatches of conversation as jadebloods talked and joked with each other. Everyone here seemed so confident and at ease, and here Nepeta was, a terrorist trying to enter the species’ most guarded heart. _

_ Nepeta and the Chimeric did not stop holding hands until they reached the front of the queue and had to separate to give their papers to the next available clerks. _

_ “Name,” the clerk asked. _

_ “Mistress Cultivan,” Nepeta answered. _

_ “You’ll be ‘Mistress’ when you come out,” she said, like a stock response she had given a thousand times. “Origin?” _

_ “Usukatik.” _

_ “Do you have your imperial record card?” _

_ “Yes, that should be there—” _

_ “Do you have your schoolfeeding completion certificate?” _

_ “Yes, in the—” _

_ “And your medical records?” _

_ “Yes, those too, in the—” _

_ The clerk looked satisfied she had seen what she needed, snapped Nepeta’s folder shut, and handed it back. “Proceed to the scanner. Next!” _

_ Nepeta shuffled through and hugged her folder to herself again. The Chimeric passed through an instant later, and they re-attached at the hip. Already, the lights on the wall were scarcer, their glow dimming. _

_ “Now what?” Nepeta hissed. _

_ “Just ahead—ready?” _

_ Nepeta touched the bubble of blood glued to her thumb. “Ready.” _

_ The blood scanners looked like small gates, each barely wide enough for a single troll. Then after the scanners, more clerks with tables were inspecting baggage. Nepeta felt more aware than ever of the bulk built into her shoes. If they caught onto anything… _

_ Before she could contemplate that possibility too deeply, she and the Chimeric arrived. He went first, pressing his thumb against the scanner’s needle. It whirred, hummed, and then buzzed with an analog sound, not a tone or ping like she would expect to signify success. But it was the sound that their neighbor’s successful scan made, so the Chimeric walked through. Nepeta mimicked him, nervous about the sensation of a needle stick that never came, but then her scanner accepted the fake blood, so she walked through. _

_ At the tables, she and the Chimeric had to open their bags for inspection, but the ease with which they passed through that stage made Nepeta more nervous. More than an impenetrable cave, like most outsiders expected, Nepeta found the caverns to be a minefield of lax and iron-clad security. Getting complacent at one hurdle would make someone trip over the next one. _

_ Bags inspected, Nepeta and the Chimeric reunited, and the Monnarch found them again, chittering blithely about how serious cavern security was, and how her thumb still hurt, and how she wondered if she was going to have a blockmate, and how if they allowed three people to share a respiteblock, maybe they should all three be blockmates! Nepeta nodded along and let Trueshot’s lessons in polite conversation carry her through as she let the Chimeric hold tight to her arm. _

_ The tunnel sloped down now, deeper into the earth, and the air started to feel mustier, and damper. The lights on the cavern walls could barely illuminate the faces of the jadebloods around her. The senior auxiliatrices created a river that Nepeta would be helpless to resist, but it helped her look like she knew where she was going. _

_ As they proceeded, a set of doors appeared, almost invisible until Nepeta was on top of them. They opened as the jades approached, and inside, Nepeta could see a few extra lanterns hung, illuminating two dozen small medical bays. Nepeta recognized the setup from Trueshot’s hospital, and every single one of them had a jadeblood nurse and an entrant to the caverns. _

_ “Shit,” the Chimeric mumbled. _

_ “Don’t you dare explain that, I’m nervous enough hearing you swear,’” Nepeta scolded him. _

_ “You with the bendy horns!” One of the nurses waved to Nepeta. “Over here.” _

_ Nepeta had no choice but to go, shuffling to the nurse’s enclave and sitting down on the examination table. _

_ “Records?” the nurse asked, and Nepeta handed her folder over. “Cultivan?” _

_ “Y-Yes, ma’am,” Nepeta stammered. _

_ The nurse raised her hands and started to feel along Nepeta’s jaw. “Cultivan, my name is Stalacta, and I’m a mediculler here in the caverns. Looks like this is your first tour?” _

_ “Yes, ma’am.” _

_ “Ah, to be young,” she said with a smile, and Nepeta mirrored it. “Trust me, you’ll get used to life down here fast. You stay busy, at least.” _

_ “Is it all work?” _

_ “Well, a lot of it is. But how can it not be? Anything worthwhile is worth hard work.” _

_ Stalacta continued to poke and prod and Nepeta, testing her reflexes, hearing, breathing, and eyesight. Nepeta breathed a sigh of relief when her colored contacts passed Stalacta’s scrutiny. The Chimeric’s contact must have found some advanced stuff. Then Stalacta produced a thermometer and told Nepeta to say ‘aah.’ She obeyed, but her tongue squirmed to feel the probe underneath it. She always hated when Trueshot had to take her temperature. _

_ While Stalacta consulted Nepeta’s fabricated file, she looked around. The whole room had a rhythm to it, like a symphony of motion and work. Jades called to each other for little favors and found help volunteered seamlessly. Nepeta couldn’t think of a single thing that matched the teamwork, efficiency, and community of jades, and this was just the beginning of the caverns. Her intrusion here was starting to feel more like a sin than a crime. _

_ Stalacta turned back and retrieved the thermometer, making a note of her temperature. “You’re a little warm, but it’s noted in your file that your baseline is above average,” she reported. “Proceed to the end of the room on the right, there’s some seats for you to wait before orientation.” _

_ “Thank you,” Nepeta accepted her file back and pulled it to her chest again. _

_ “Happy to help, sister,” Stalacta said with a smile. _

_ Nepeta felt herself blush, the guilty feeling in her chest growing as she moved to the waiting chairs. About twenty of them were arranged in a loose L-shape, and Nepeta sat down beside the waiting Monnarch, who excitedly pointed out two reserved seats. _

_ “I can see where Mothdust is,” she reported to Nepeta. “You’re right, she is  _ way _ shy! She’ll barely make eye contact with anyone here.” _

_ Nepeta followed Monnarch’s pointing finger to a med bay a few rows back. The Chimeric had a thermometer sticking out of his mouth too, and Nepeta found the picture absurd enough that she managed to giggle. He looked so indignant! But the giggles faded quickly as the nurse took the thermometer back, shook her head at it, and retrieved a square of white cloth from a drawer. She handed it to the Chimeric and mimed something on her own face until he obediently looped two strings over his ears. _

A mask?

_ The nurse directed the Chimeric to stand, handed back his file, and started walking with him toward the end of the cavern, before pulling him toward the left, and another set of doors. _

_ “Wait,” Nepeta stood, chasing after the nurse and the Chimeric. “Wait, where are you taking her? She’s new, like me!” _

_ “Quarantine,” the nurse said, as easily as if describing the weather. “She has to wait out her fever before we can let her in the caverns.” _

_ They thought it was a fever?! But that was his blood, he couldn’t just wait out a scorching-red mutation! They’d run out of time, and they’d be discovered— “Can I at least say goodbye?! She’s my matesprit!” _

_ “You need to stay back, else the contagion spreads. Sorry, sister.” _

_ As Nepeta scrambled to think of another excuse, the Chimeric pulled down the mask over his face. She couldn’t hear him, but he mouthed a word to her with urgency on his face: _

Sundance!

_ Their contact in the caverns. Nepeta backed up and nodded deferentially to the nurse and let her take the Chimeric away through another set of doors. A hand patted her back, and Nepeta saw Monnarch had joined her. _

_ “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” she said. _

_ Nepeta smiled back at the well-meaning young troll, her mind spinning and knees shaking. But all she could do was sit and wait as the chairs around her filled up. What if they did more tests? What if they made him change clothes? What if they searched him more thoroughly? What if they quizzed him and his story started to fall apart? What if she couldn’t find Sundance in time? _

_ The chairs filled and another jade appeared, announcing her presence with, “Is this everyone? The newbies?” _

_ “They took one girl to quarantine!” a voice announced, helpful but afraid. _

_ “She’ll catch up later,” the auxiliatrix brushed the concern aside. “And she is no longer just a girl; she is your sister. I am Mistress Matriova and I’m here to lead your orientation. Everyone come with me!” _

_ Nepeta and the gaggle of jades followed out another door and deeper into the caves, back into the dim tunnels and the sloping descent. She could barely see in front of her, let alone around her for any opportunity to slip away. And Monnarch kept chattering at her, even over Mistress Matriova’s voice as she explained the basic layout of the caverns, something Nepeta would much rather be listening to. _

_ She only caught sight of a tunnel when she noticed some jadebloods turning into it. Frantically, Nepeta tugged on the sleeve of another novice and blurted out, “Excuse me, have you met my friend, Monnarch?” _

_ Monnarch and the other girl became aware of each other, and they shook hands right as the group approached the branch in the tunnel. Hanging at the back of the group, no longer observed, Nepeta turned and made a break for it, deeper into the brooding caverns in an unknown direction. _

_ Okay. Step one done, Nepeta successfully ditched orientation. But now she needed to actually find Sundance, easier said than done when Nepeta didn’t know what she looked like or where she was or how to get there. And as she went, she could feel the damp air sticking to her skin and clothes, and the darkness meant she could barely see a thing… _

_ A rudimentary strategy emerged, and with no other option, Nepeta tried it out. She found the nearest jadeblood and waved for her attention. “Excuse me, ma’am? I’m looking for Sundance. She’s needed in mediculling.” _

_ “I don’t know her—and they’d find her easier if they didn’t send a grub,” the auxiliatrix answered, walking off. _

_ That hadn’t worked, but at least it didn’t seem to raise alarm, so Nepeta could probably try it again. She turned a few more corners—and put her paperwork in her thin bag, in case that was part of why she looked suspicious—and tried again. _

_ And again. And again. And each time, the jadebloods turned Nepeta down, but at least she learned more about what she was supposed to be doing. But how long had she been down here? Her entire sense of time dragged and twisted in ways that made Nepeta’s head ache, on top of the tremor in her legs and pressure behind her eyes. _

_ After what felt like hours, Nepeta found another target. She announced her presence with a small curtsy, modified from one Trueshot had taught her, and asked, “Excuse me, sister, I’m looking for Sundance. She’s needed in mediculling—I don’t know what for, but it must be urgent.” _

_ “Urgent? Why?” the jadeblood asked. _

_ “Because the only one they could spare to send the message was me, and this is my first day in the caverns.” _

_ “I see… I know Sundance is on a shift in harvestry. I’ll show you the way as far as I can.” _

_ Breathless with success, Nepeta curtsied again in thanks and followed the auxiliatrix down another number of tunnels, too many for Nepeta to count or appropriately track. She just kept her eyes focused on the orange points of her guide’s horns and waited for them to emerge somewhere useful. _

_ “There we are,” Nepeta’s guide said, bringing Nepeta to a set of doors. “She should still be there, if not, ask for the Claviger. She’s the senior on staff there.” _

_ “Thank you, sister,” Nepeta said, and she pushed her way inside. ‘Harvestry’ was a long, wide, low-ceilinged cavern filled with rows and rows of narrow shelves. The air inside carried even more humidity than the hallways outside, and as Nepeta sniffed, she smelled loam and tree rot. When she blinked and pushed her face closer, she could see the rows filled with trays, and those trays had growing fungus, moss, and lichen. _

_ “Move,” a brusque voice told Nepeta, and she obediently jumped back as a jadeblood with a knife and bowl moved in position and started scraping the growth off of the tray.  _ Is it food? For the grubs? Or for the jades!?

_ “Excuse me, sister, I’m looking for Sundance?” Nepeta asked. _

_ “Who sent you?” _

_ “Mediculling, sister.” _

_ She nodded, and then pointed with her knife toward the back-left corner of the cavern. “Should be that way. Bring her back soon, she’s lagging behind.” _

_ “Understood!” _

_ Nepeta moved as quick as she could toward the back of the rows, marveling at the scale of harvestry. And she had no concept of how many of these rooms there were! Fungus could grow strong in a cave, but it grew slowly, so how many untold caverns contained these ‘crops?’ But she didn’t have time to contemplate that, not with the noose of discovery around the Chimeric’s neck. _

_ When she was in range, she started asking, “Sundance? I’m looking for Sundance? Is Sundance here?” _

_ After a minute, Nepeta’s call received a response. “Yes?” A jade with looping horns and a sad face raised her head, and Nepeta rushed to her. _

_ “You’re needed in mediculling!” Nepeta blurted out as she closed the distance between them and muttered in her ear, “We need your help. This is a cavebreak.” _

_ Sundance stiffened. “That’s not funny.” _

_ “No, just…” Nepeta took hold of her hand and tugged her back to the front of the cavern, to the door. “I have a lot to explain. Give me a chance.” _

_ Seeing that Nepeta was not letting up, Sundance started to walk quicker, standing beside instead of behind her. “Here…” Once they were clear from harvestry, Sundance took the lead in the tunnels until she found a concealed enclave created by some thick stalactite columns. “Now, explain.” _

_ Nepeta took a deep breath. “My name is the Tameless. My blood is olive, not jade. The Chimeric and I are here to break you out, and anyone else who wants to go.” _

_ “You and the who?” _

_ “The… Chimeric?” Nepeta repeated. “Have you not heard?” _

_ “No one tells me anything. They think it will make me… worse.” _

_ “Okay, that’s fine, that’s… um, his blood is scarlet, off-spectrum. He said you were a teacher of his when he was young?” _

_ Sundance’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth. “Karkat?” she whispered. _

_ “Yes! It’s him!” Nepeta confirmed, assuming that had to be the Chimeric’s hatch name, something civilized trolls guarded carefully for reasons Nepeta didn’t understand. “He’s in the caverns, but he’s in quarantine—they think it’s a fever. We have to get him out so we can get  _ you  _ out.” _

_ Sundance nodded and took Nepeta’s hand again, this time pulling her along. “I know just the thing.” _

_ The weight that had settled on Nepeta since her separation from the Chimeric finally lifted. She had an ally again. And if she didn’t have to do it alone, Nepeta knew she could do it for sure. _


	65. Hard Lines

Terezi hadn’t realized how much of moirallegiance consisted of being quiet.

That first jam—apart from the fact it had nearly happened in a pile made out of Gamzee’s stolen refuse—was kind of everything Terezi had dreamed of when imagining her pale quadrant. A break from doubt, quiet in her mind, a chance to exist without fear: all of that had happened when she found herself in a pile with Vriska, surrounded by scalemates and gaming manuals and only a few stray gaming dice, to keep things interesting. She had felt giddy and soothed all at once, being close in a new way to someone who had mattered so much to her for sweeps.

Outside of the pile, Terezi liked the change just as much, if not more. Simply being in cahoots with Vriska was a romantic activity now. Taking stock of weapons, powers, the locations of the battle, and their possible foes gave Terezi a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. Even with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to pin any of this down without reconnaissance from the new session, the exercise helped Terezi feel sharp. What if they were fighting Jack on LOHAC and he had Jade for reinforcements? What if the battle was in the Furthest Ring, and only people who could fly were able to fight her? And what could they reasonably expect the powers of the new kids to be, assuming they would still manage to reach God Tier? Thought experiments and testing the outcomes of possible decisions helped her feel productive.

And now she and Vriska could hug over their brilliance, and not just laugh over it with posturing bravado. Terezi kind of liked hugs. More than she really wanted anyone to know, though she had a feeling Vriska knew already.

But there was the one part she hadn’t expected, and that was the quiet. Like after sharing a pile together, when the feelings were sussed out and the faces papped, there was just… silence. Like now, with Vriska asleep in their pile for well-established tactical purposes, since she was still helping Aradia recruit some ghosts for the ‘last stand’ memory. Maybe since God Tiers were kind of half dreamself, they could just fall asleep whenever they wanted.

But that left Terezi alone.

Half-alone, really. Vriska was still there, smelling quiet and peaceful and so romantically pitiful. At least Terezi could still cuddle up with her, hear her breathing and heartbeat and all sorts of other mushy, fleshy things that separated Vriska from Terezi’s average plushie. She felt an impulse to wake Vriska up and talk about something, anything, to fill the silence. But she wouldn’t do that, she knew she wouldn’t. Knowing Vriska, she and Aradia weren’t seeing eye-to-eye about whether a Tavros was necessary to play the Huntsman, or if they could compensate with enough other ghosts who remembered the scene. Really, Terezi should try and get to sleep too, so she could help Vriska in the argument. But she wasn’t tired.

Or maybe she was tired, but she wasn’t sleepy. Too many thoughts. Ones she didn’t like.

After a while spent just feeling Vriska’s presence with her senses, Terezi finally moved, sitting up and poking in the pile around them. She pulled some scalemates up to give them a sniff, pushed the majority of them back in, and kept a few. Doctor Honeytongue. Liaison Pumpkinsnuffle. A junior aide named Lavenderriere. The key witness to the Senator’s trial, kidnapped by John and returned in the nick of time. And of course, Chief Deputy Pyralspite. She scooted her butt to the edge of the pile and gave the dragons a flat surface to sit on, arranged in a semicircle facing her.

“Right,” Terezi whispered to them. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here today. I know that a true legislacerator is capable of conducting her investigation without tedious bureaucratic meetings or onerous upstairs pressure, but this is a very serious case I’m considering and I think I need all the help I can get.”

Lavenderriere’s head tipped to the side.

“I understand your confusion, Junior Aide, but I promise all of you are here because of your uniquely qualified perspective on the matter. You see, the case I am considering is…” Terezi took a deep breath. “Why do I still feel so… broken?”

Honeytongue smelled surprised. They all did, at least a little bit.

“I just keep thinking about it, like how I have a moirail, and I keep feeling this is what Vriska and I were meant to be all along—allies fighting for something greater than ourselves—so that’s great, isn’t it? And then all those other stupid losers on the meteor are my friends too, Karkat and Dave and Kanaya and Rose, and there will be even more friends when we arrive, old and new. Plans for battle are going according to, well, plan, and I know the fight is going to be hard, but I feel like we’re prepared for that. So what’s going wrong?” Terezi stopped for a minute and sniffed to see if Vriska had moved. Then she hissed to the scalemates, “Why am _I_ wrong?”

_Guilty!_ Pumpkinsnuffle chirped. _Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty!_

“What?”

The Liaison continued with a merry tone of voice, _You are a guilty criminal! Guilty! Guilty!_

“Guilty of what?”

_What else? A crime! Guilty!_

“What crime?!”

The green witness interjected. _I think it’s the crime against her._

Terezi pursed her lips at the witness. “Remind me your name, comrade?”

_I think it’s Mossyface._

“Oh, right, of course. Mossyface, I recognize that I was definitely prepared to… take necessary action to defend everyone else! I remember the vortex of possibility where I let her go and it was catastrophic!”

_I think you don’t remember what you saw._

“Well, no, I don’t remember it perfectly. But it definitely involved everyone dead.”

_I think there’s no point dwelling on what could have happened,_ Mossyface said.

_Except that it’s still clearly bothering her. Guilty!_ Pumpkinsnuffle retorted.

“I know, and that’s why I’m talking to all of you.”

_I think you should be talking to her, since she’s the one you’re pale for_.

“You know what _I_ think? It’s that you spent too much time in the company of a big blue bozo.” Terezi sniffed at Mossyface with disgust. “We all know Vriska is taking a mission-critical nap right now. We should let her sleep.”

_Why is that?_ Doctor Honeytongue added to the discussion.

“Why should she sleep?”

_Yes, why is that?_

“Because… it’s nice? And she has a good reason to be asleep?”

_I think this is something you want her help with anyway—so why are you letting her sleep when you need her?_

“I… Look, we already had a feelings jam. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

_Objection!_ Lavenderriere seemed to be getting a little feisty as the junior aide interrupted. _You are not feeling fine at all and Vriska’s presence makes you feel better!_

_It is very obvious that you spend less time doubting yourself when she’s here, why is that?_ Honeytongue added.

“She’s… like a counterbalance. Someone I need to make everything work out the way it’s supposed to.”

_I think she’d like to hear that._ Mossyface said.

“She has to know already. I mean, since we’re now moirails.”

_I think you are scared to tell her outright._

_But Vriska gives you so much courage to do other things, like face the possibility that your enemies could win, or the fight could have casualties—why is that?_ Honeytongue continued.

_Objection! That’s not how this is supposed to work! When Vriska’s here there’s no room for self-doubt!_

_Why is that?_

_Because she listens to her and she stops listening to herself and doesn’t make choices that make her guilty! Guilty! Guilty!_

_Objection again! We are obviously capable of making good choices without Vriska! Like how we helped the flighty broads fall in love, and all of our assistance to the cool kid!_

_But there is still a distinct possibility that Vriska is being used as a crutch to stave off doubt—why is that?_

_Because she’s GUILTY!_

“Everyone needs to calm down!” Terezi hissed sharply to her scalemate court. Which was really not something that should have spiraled so far out of control; she only pretended her scalemates were alive to annoy other people, but maybe her mind had needed someone to talk this through with more than she expected.

She took a few breaths to compose herself. “I get it now… that even though Vriska and I have this new side to our relationship, somehow I can’t spit out everything I’m feeling. And that if I ever lost her… I’d be sitting in a stinky swamp of guilt and regret.”

The scalemates didn’t say anything—and she didn’t provide thoughts for them to say—but she got the feeling they were all in agreement.

“So now… what do I do about it?”

Still, they said nothing. Terezi didn’t have anything for them to say. She just smelled Pyralspite in the center, saying nothing and staring at her with his big, red, button eyes. 

She took a deep breath and let her head hang. They were right, in the end, and it was kind of obvious she needed Vriska more than Vriska needed her. When they were both together, working, acting, fighting, it was so easy to forget that. And no way would Vriska bring this up to her, or say anything that pointed out this emptiness in Terezi’s chest that she couldn’t even claim was Vriska-shaped. After all, Vriska was right here, and she still felt hollow. Obviously there were spaces she didn’t fill.

After another minute, Terezi reached out and pulled Pyralspite to her chest, hugging his squishy form tightly and smelling his crisp, snowfall-white plush and familiar, beloved mustiness. Then she swept her arm to make the others topple over more realistically, and finally laid back down in the pile. Maybe she should try sleeping too. Some new dreambubble might help distract her again.

 

* * *

 

_In moments, Sundance achieved the solution Nepeta had spent hours trying to find._  

_“How many in here are starting their first tour? Just the one? Well, hello you little thing. Mothdust, is it? I was thinking, Magnolia is in quarantine too, over in the Delta tunnels. I’ll bring Mothdust over so they can talk and she’ll be on track with her peers when she gets better. Come along…”_

_And in a breathless instant, the Chimeric was released into their custody, keeping his distance until the mediculling doors closed, then ripping off the pathogen mask and grabbing both Nepeta and Sundance’s hands like they were ropes thrown to someone drowning._

_“Is that really you?” Sundance hissed. “Really, truly you?”_

_“Bring us to your block, I’ll explain,” he whispered back._

_So Sundance took the lead again, expertly navigating through the caverns, away from the entrance and toward the respitecaves. Through the claustrophobic tunnels, Sundance took the lead in nodding to any jade who passed, allaying suspicion, while Nepeta’s eyes struggled to pick out individual features in the darkness. Soon, they arrived at a deep pit with a spiral pathway carved along the edge and thousands of small holes carved into the sides. A thin railing separated the walkers on the path from a fathomless drop into the core._

_“There’s really no fast way to get down,” Sundance said. “Just keep up.”_

_Nepeta and the Chimeric obeyed, and began the long walk down past the entrance portals. Nepeta peered into them to see if she could perceive their dimensions, but the spacing of the doors made her nervous. Trueshot would call a culling dormitory designed this way to be ‘excruciatingly cruel.’ But did the jades have the freedom to reconstruct better lodgings, when large construction projects could cause cave-ins and threaten the mother grub?_

_After another long stretch, Sundance finally slowed and opened one of the heavy doors into her respiteblock. It was longer than Nepeta expected, but contained little more than a shallow recuperacoon, a desk, and a chair. The desk had a bulky lantern sitting in the corner with red and orange splotches on it._

_“You still have it,” the Chimeric said._

_“It’s my most prized possession,” Sundance answered, and she tapped the base. A blazing light filled the tiny space, and finally Nepeta felt like her eyes could function. “The first bulb burned out and I never found one as bright, but dim light is better than no light.”_

_The Chimeric laughed a little, and then reached out to embrace Sundance. She gripped him back like she was trying to prove he was real, and they stayed that way for a very long time. Even Nepeta, usually so shameless when witnessing public affection, started to feel uncomfortable._

_After a minute, they managed to separate, though Sundance still clutched his forearms. “Karkat—”_

_“I’m titled now. The Chimeric. And I have made… a name for myself.”_  

_“I knew you would.”_

_“Not like this. Believe me, no one knew_ this _would happen.”_

_“You have to tell me! Even the gossips avoid me down here. They think news from the surface will ‘destabilize’ me. How many sweeps has it been?”_

_“Seven. After your capture, I studied culling reform, became a Guardian with the sponsorship of the Compasse. Then received a prophecy from a magical beast which basically said I would need to commit unforgivable treason… which I quickly did,” the Chimeric summarized. “The beast gave me commands to collect pieces of a critical code that had been broken and give our species a chance to survive the distant apocalypse. One of those pieces is here in the brooding caverns, and even though I’m here for that, I won’t leave without you.”_  

_Tears welled up in Sundance’s eyes. “I’m just… I can’t believe you remembered me.”_

_“How could I forget?”_

_Nepeta gritted her teeth. Ruining this obviously emotional reunion felt sacrilegious, but the longer they stayed here, the greater the risk of discovery. “What’s the plan?” she prompted._

_“Right. Sundance, the code I’m looking for is in the Gamma tunnels, level six, hall twelve. They built some ablution fixtures over it but I can bust those aside and retrieve what I’m looking for. Then, we need to recruit. Just one pass through, anyone who wants to go can. I think you know some trolls predisposed for that…?”_

_Sundance smiled. “My adjustment group. We meet somewhat weekly to commiserate about how badly we miss the surface. We’re supposed to encourage each other to stay strong, but if I tell them there’s a cavebreak planned I’m sure they’ll all go.”_

_“Good. Now, in order for the break to work, we need a few distractions…” The Chimeric gestured to Nepeta’s feet while he kept speaking. She tugged on her shoelaces to remove her shoes at long last. “One is, I need to hijack the cavern communication line. I’ll broadcast a distress signal on loop and make sure the system will need a few days to repair.”_

_“Wait, but why?”_

_“I’m the commander of a rebel army opposed to the Compasse, and this is tactically beneficial for our escape. You can ask more questions about that when we’re on the surface,” the Chimeric headed off debate. Nepeta finally got her shoe off and removed the false bottom to shake some white, spherical pellets into her hand. “The main diversion we need is to make the mother grub sick.”_

_Sundance’s eyes widened. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t. I want to leave, I’d give my life to leave, but I can’t—that’s treason!”_

_“Protecting us is already treason?” Nepeta pointed out._

_“You have my word, this will not harm her. She will make a full recovery within thirty hours. It’s similar to indigestion or mild food poisoning. We just need a sudden and dramatic change in her health to distract the senior auxiliatrices and let us escape.”_

_Nepeta held the pills out to Sundance, but she wouldn’t take them. “Isn’t there another way? There must be another way, anything but this, we can’t hurt her, we can’t risk everything—”_

_“You_ have _to risk everything,” the Chimeric insisted. “And I’ll swear on everything I have that she will be fine. I swear on my name, on my armies, on my blood, on my visions, on my moirail, on all of it: the mother will be fine. We just have to pretend she’s not in order to escape.”_

_Footsteps and voices reached them from outside. Nepeta and the Chimeric instinctively shrunk down, but they passed, and Nepeta heard someone laughing. If they didn’t get out of here soon, Nepeta could see the paranoia alone killing them._

_“Maybe… we should run the errand, and let Sundance think about it?” Nepeta suggested._

_“Good idea. I know the way from here to there, the chimera showed me.” The Chimeric reached out and touched Sundance’s hand one more time. “I’ll come back for you.”_

_She said nothing. Nepeta took the pellets and left them on the desk next to the sun lamp and followed the Chimeric back onto the spiral chasm and then wherever she needed to go next._


	66. Anguish and Ecstasy

_Feferi had thought nothing would be important enough to interrupt the counterattack strategy meetings. She had thought she knew her enemy. She thought she had seen his worst. Surely, six thousand soldiers dead and a thousand more taken prisoner, the bloodiest conflict the planet had ever seen, would satisfy him._

_He kept proving her wrong._

_The generals had learned their lesson. Even with the steep casualties in Grizzhod, they knew what they were dealing with and how it was time to fight them. The prisoners prevented them from declaring an all-out attack, but they orchestrated a perimeter over the major roads and patrols between them to catch anyone trying to enter or leave. Feferi had been in the middle of listening to one of those reports when someone’s fist rattled the door._

_“Radiance!” an out-of-breath voice tried to shout. “Y’r Radi’nce! Caverns! Distress!”_

_Feferi looked around the room and saw the same expression:_ it can’t be _. The caverns had one distress line leading to the palace, and there had never been an emergency dire enough to justify its use. Still, Feferi couldn’t ignore an alarm that rare and extreme out of hope it didn’t mean anything._

_“I’ll be back,” she instructed the generals, and then she followed the messenger to the little room dedicated to receiving such messages. It was such a small block, barely enough for a closet, but it housed the most important communication device in the entire palace: a telemessage receiver, ancient and clunky, with an only slightly younger translation printer. The only reason it didn’t have a place of greater prominence was how rarely it spat out messages. Feferi had never received one in her life._

_There was a thin paper tape spitting out of the end of the machine, spooling into a pile on the floor. The caverns were sending the same message over and over again, like they had input the letters and then held down their ‘send’ command. Feferi reached out to take some of the fresh tape._

R E A K S T O P M O T H E R S I C K S T O P M A T R I O R B M I S S I N G S T O P R U D D Y C A V E B R E A K S T O P M O T H E R S I C K S T O P M A T R I O R B M I S S I N G S T O P R U D D Y C A V E B R E A K M O T H E R S I C K S T O P M A T R I O R B M I S S I N G S T O P R U D D Y C A V E B R E A K M O T H E R S I C K S T O P M A T R I O R B M I S S I N G S T O P R U D D Y C A V E B R E A K S T O P M O T H E R S I C K S T O P M A T R I O

_The message left Feferi reeling like a trident had pierced her stomach. For a minute, all she could do was stare at the letters, describing a horror she didn’t know how to bear. A cavebreak orchestrated by ruddies. A missing, presumed stolen Matriorb. A threat to the health of the mother grub. She thought she had found the end of despair, the ultimate pain and loss._

_And now…_

_“Compasse, orders?!” a fearful voice asked._

_Right. She had the entire species counting on her… a species that might go extinct if she couldn’t solve this. She had no time for this despair, no matter how fast and fierce. The message made it clear what the Chimeric wanted; steal the reproduction of the species so Feferi would be forced to yield further. How could anyone expect her to do otherwise, when the people she was meant to rule stood to disappear? Was this the Chimeric’s way of addressing his delusional apocalypse? He’d just trigger it early and spite the prophecy?_

_The machine was still spitting tape, but Feferi tore off a piece of what she had, long enough to contain the message a few times over. “Monitor the machine for any updates. The instant the message changes, I want to know. I’m going back to the generals.”_

_“Understood!”_

_Feferi ran the path back, the paper in her hand gripped tight like her last lifeline. She had no time to grieve, no time to worry, and she needed a plan. The only thing she knew for certain was that she would not keep this an ‘imperial secret.’ She had learned her lesson after the Betrayer: nothing would be gained from pretending things weren’t that bad. And if she could tell the story right, the Chimeric would never find another friend as long as he lived._

_And after all he had done, Feferi could not allow him to live any longer._

 

* * *

 

_The Imperial notice circulated quickly, a stark white page printed with fuchsia text and no other adornment: no letterhead, an underwhelming seal. Everything about the smell of that page made Terezi nervous. She stepped closer to it, not because she could read it, but because she wanted to hear the chatter of others reading it._

_“The caverns!”_

_“The_ mother! _”_

_“How could he!?”_

_“This is the end, isn’t it? The end is here?!”_

_Terezi needed to get closer. Or specifically, Prospera needed to be closer. Terezi cleared her throat and ordered, “If you’ve read it, make space for others to read!”_

_The firm tone of Terezi’s command transcended blood caste, and the crowds shifted enough to allow Prospera through. She gave Terezi a sarcastically gracious ‘thank you,’ but even that little gesture rang hollow due to fear. Prospera cleared her throat and began to read._

_“By the power of Her Radiant Compassion, this notice is to inform the population of recent terrorist activities targeting the brooding caverns and the mother grub. Armed insurgents following the Chimeric have breached the caverns and harmed the Mother, and are now at large with an unknown number of kidnapped jadebloods. Be it therefore enacted that the Empire will mobilize every willing troll in combat against the terrorist threat.” Prospera’s confident voice cracked as she kept reading. “As their disregard for the lives of their fellow trolls has reached an extreme, so must we… disregard their lives. For our continued prosperity, if not our very survival. Please be advised that trolls traveling without imperial permit will be forcibly stopped and… may be harmed in the process of detainment.” Prospera stepped back. “Then there’s contact information for… volunteer soldiers.”_

_As the noble rabble around them raised their voices again, Terezi spoke quietly to Prospera. “She’s raising a mob against him.”_

_“But she’s going to miss him. It’s a cavebreak, he’s not in Grizzhod.”_

_“Reconquer Grizzhod and the Chimeric will have nowhere to go.”_

_“He’ll disappear for as long as it takes to make the Compasse crack, he knows it's possible! And even if she waits out his lifespan, the damned Mournful will carry on the fight—and if she can outwait him, the_ Betrayer _is still on his side!”_

_“So what should she do?”_

_“The question is, what should_ we _do.” Prospera took hold of Terezi’s shoulder and guided her out of the crowd again. “You have a singularly intimate knowledge regarding one of my hobbies from my former life, so I hope you trust me enough to believe that I know exactly where he’s been let out and the path he will take back to Grizzhod.”_

_Terezi did remember—Prospera’s flushed feelings for the senior auxiliatrix, Mistress Benevole, were hard to forget. “You were plotting a cavebreak for her? She’d never go.”_

_“That’s not the point anymore. Now that a cavebreak has happened, I’m sure the Chimeric is taking the same path of least resistance that I once identified. The army won’t mobilize in time, but two trolls could make it swiftly, so long as they left immediately…”_

_“The notice said that trolls traveling without authorization may be killed,” Terezi warned her._

_She could feel Prospera’s spine straighten. “Then I will die the one thing I never thought I would ever become: a hero. Now, will you go with me or not?”_

_Terezi understood. Try as she might to tell herself that she didn’t have the keys to Prospera’s mind and reason, she knew what she meant, what she wanted to do, and how for once she was on the side of justice._

_“When there’s a chance to become a hero, how can I not?” Terezi said._

 

* * *

 

_When Kanaya heard the news, she didn’t think, she just moved. She had to go. In sixty seconds she swept her borrowed respiteblock for everything she needed—truly needed, for almost everything would be provided when she got to the caverns—and made her way toward the door. But, she wasn’t the only one to hear the news._

_“Where are you going?” Trueshot caught her as she descended the stairs._

_“The rebels attacked the mother grub. They need me,” she answered, not looking at him._

_“You are not on duty. The in-service jadebloods will handle this.”_

_“You heard the news, she’s sick! Terrorists tried to kill her!”_

_As she passed Trueshot, he grabbed her arm. His fingers easily wrapped around her elbow, and when Kanaya tried to shake free, his hand would not budge._

_“I have heard about this tragedy, but you cannot leave,” Trueshot told her. His words sounded choked, like he was struggling to remain calm._

_Kanaya didn’t feel like struggling. “Why not!? I_ should _leave, the mother needs me—my sisters need me!”_

_“Travel restrictions have been implemented across the planet. No one is permitted to go anywhere.”_

_“I need permission!? This is ridiculous, I am a senior auxiliatrix—”_

_“The Compasse has mobilized enforcers who will be stopping all travelers with possible… lethal force,” Trueshot said. “You are under my protection, so I cannot let you leave.”_

_“Then come with me and explain who I am! I refuse to sit here uselessly!”_

_She could see the muscles in his neck shift as he swallowed. “I refuse your refusal. You will stay here.”_

_Kanaya tugged harder against his grip, but she might as well attempt to escape a statue. Against her struggling, his fingers started to bruise her, but what did that matter?! She’d break her arm in Trueshot’s grip if that would let her leave._

_“I understand this is difficult for a midblood to understand, but the Compasse has spoken. Please trust her long-term vision.”_

_“What could be more long-term than the survival of the mother?! You need to call the Compasse now, tell her that I need to report for duty!”_

_“Benevole, if you do not calm yourself, I will take measures to detain you,” Trueshot warned her. His calm, composed announcement of intent just made the fury in her blaze hotter. What did he know about the mother? What did he know about anything?!_

_“I’m not going to stop,” she answered, and by now she knew she was screaming. “You can’t expect me to stop when the species is dying and I can do something about it!”_

_The hand on her arm finally released, but not to let her go. Instead, both of his arms wrapped around her instead. He lifted her off of the ground and over his shoulder, leaving her with a view of the door as he walked away from it._

_“No—no! Put me down! I TOLD YOU NO, PUT ME DOWN!”_

_Kanaya tried to kick, but one iron-strong arm restricted her legs while the other held her torso securely against his shoulder. Her free arms wailed on his back with all the power her body possessed. He didn’t even flinch and Kanaya’s fists started to sting and shake with the effort. He was a cave-in in the form of a troll._

_Trueshot carried her back to her respiteblock and paused for a single moment to survey it, deciding what to do. When he lowered Kanaya to the ground in front of her wardrobe—she tried to claw his face, but he resisted that effortlessly, though with a sorrow in his eye for which she felt no empathy—he reached to the side to lift a corner of the massive armoire and pinned a fistful of her skirt under its weight._

_When he stood, Kanaya lurched for him, but her skirt held her back like a chain. He looked down at her sadly, she knew that morose face had nothing but pity for her, but she wouldn’t accept it. She had tears on her face and a wordless scream in her throat, and still he wouldn’t_ see!

_“I will release you when the danger has passed,” Trueshot promised. Kanaya felt the very un-troll-like urge to kill him._

_As he turned away, Kanaya tugged harder on her skirt and felt the fabric tear. He walked out of the block and shut her door. Kanaya’s fingers found the rip and yanked, forcing the fabric under the wardrobe to separate from her skirt. Outside in the hallway, she heard something heavy land with a thud. She sprinted forward and slammed into her door, twisting the handle with all of her strength, and the door would only budge an inch. Something blocked it from the outside, huge and heavy, perhaps a fine sculpture._

_“TRUESHOT!” she howled through her tears. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS! THEY NEED ME! SHE NEEDS ME! SHE MIGHT BE DYING!”_

_But it was like screaming into the void._

 

* * *

 

_Gamzee knew he had to wait, but that didn’t mean he had to like it._

_They had slipped the disguised Chimeric and Tameless onto a multi-troll transport vehicle at a town few hours away from the brooding caverns, and then the armed company moved through the wilderness to the pickup point. In the absence of the Chimeric, lots of trolls looked to Gamzee, but the Deadbeat managed most of their actions. The commander of Tribe Three barely resembled the avoidant troll Gamzee had met nearly three sweeps ago, but he still retained his careless approach to leadership._

_In fact, this whole battalion had a lot of familiar faces in it; it was made up almost entirely of the first few ruddies, from before the Tribes had split. Once the time-sensitive shit was done, pretty much everyone started treating it like a motherfucking schoolfeeder reunion, catching up with old friends and telling stories. He should have been happy to see old comrades again._

_But really, Gamzee just wanted to see his little bro’s face again._

_The brooding caverns worked a little bit like a body: one hole goes in, one hole goes out. The army was supposed to wait in the shadow of the exit point, because when the Chimeric, Tameless, and jadebloods breached, they’d need some protection quick. Setting up sunshelters and the campsite took a few hours, but after that was done, Gamzee had motherfucking fuck all to do._

_He stretched a lot. He practiced with his clubs. Prayed, kind of. In his new life, prayer just resembled meditating on this miracle of a bond of his little bro, finding peace and certainty in the way he knew that he was exactly where he needed to be, even if the ‘being’ set his teeth on edge. Sometimes people reached out to him, since they were passing the time by playing card and dice games, but most got the message pretty motherfucking quick that he wasn’t much in the mood for those jubilations._

_One night ended. The sun rose and set. The second night began. Everything was still within his normal estimates, but the waiting was_ hard _. He wanted to take his clubs to the earth and crack the brooding caverns open like a skull, and then take what he loved from inside, fuck anyone who told him otherwise._

_“Holding up okay?” the Deadbeat asked him. Sunrise was within an hour, and they still hadn’t seen the Chimeric._

_“Yeah,” Gamzee told him, like he’d say anything different._

_“I think he’s fine. He’s always fine. You’ve seen him come out on top after worse scrapes.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_The Deadbeat hung around a moment longer before he stepped away. Gamzee glanced and saw he had left some grubloaf behind. He’d feel affronted by the caring gesture if the Deadbeat didn’t know Gamzee’s devotions so clearly. Still, he wasn’t hungry._

_Then the trolls with the spyglasses started making a ruckus._

_“Trolls coming this way!” someone shouted. “Twenty—no, thirty!”_

_Gamzee made his way to his feet and started running, clubs on his back and the Chimeric’s sickles on his hip. If there was any kind of scuffle his little bro would want steel in his claws. Other ruddies followed his charge, sprinting toward the hill crest so they could do something, anything, to provide cover for the escapees. But, it didn’t look like there was much of a fight going on; a distant plume of dark smoke stretched up to the sky, but other than that, the trolls running from it looked exhausted, but unpursued._

_It took him longer than usual to identify the Chimeric, painted in the same jade as the rest of the trolls in the group, but in a moment Gamzee remembered the shape of his false horns and saw him near the front, setting the pace and pointing the front runners toward the ruddy forces. As Gamzee drew closer, he could see the caverns clinging to him: sweat in his hair, grime on his face, exhaustion behind those falsely-colored eyes._

_Fuck formation, fuck the plan. Gamzee ran straight to his moirail and wrapped the Chimeric’s body in his arms once more, feeling the Chimeric cling back. He smelled terrible, musty and damp like rotting wood, but he was here, he was home…_

_“…Mirthful?!”_

_He raised his head toward the scandalized voice, belonging to a short, slender woman with tightly curled horns, like two small loops above her head. “Motherfuck, it’s you! Sunnybitch!”_

_“I don’t… what… Your_ horn _!” Sundance struggled to speak, and the Chimeric pulled back from his enormous hug._

_“By every last parasitic slurryslurping slug, you have_ so _much catching up to do,” the Chimeric said to Sundance. He patted Gamzee’s shoulder in a request to be put down, which he followed._

_“What much is there to say?” Gamzee said. “She threatened to get my ass excommunicated, and then the excommunications jumped right on up my ass like she wanted.”_

_The Chimeric groaned at Gamzee’s exaggeration. “Those two events have no causation! Murfle, we’ll see each other soon, but now—”_

_“I got it. Go fix everything.” Gamzee held his moirail’s hand a moment longer before letting him go. He needed to get everyone matched with mentors and all that motherfucking shit, this time cavebreak-edition. The jades clumped together like leaves rustled by the wind, each one obviously an individual, but stuck to the same branch, as the ruddies swirled around them to get the camp ready to move._

Wait a motherfuck, where’s the Tameless?

_Gamzee searched the jadebloods again for the Tameless’s fake horns. Then for her actual horns. And then he looked back toward a scraggly tree, where one troll had broken off from the others and looked in the midst of a frightful set of convulsions. She had shredded her own clothes against the bark, scraped her face with her claws until her colored lenses popped out, and now she was knocking her horns on the trunk until one of the prosthetics wiggled loose._

_“Wildsis!” Gamzee approached, since everyone else seemed busy with the jades. “We brought a dissolver to get that shit off—”_

_She snarled at him and he backed off, leaving her to get the disguise off her own feral way. The other horn snapped and then dislodged completely, and her attempts to get out of that jade dress was kind of destroying the motherfucking thing. But that really couldn’t be healthy for her to try and use a tree to cut her clothes off of her, she’d be liable to cut herself!_

_He placed his hand on her shoulder, and the Tameless seemed to realize exactly who was there. Her eyes looked bloodshot from the lenses and she had a deep olive blush on her fave, healthy and vital…_

_And she leapt at him. With a mighty, roarbeast’s pounce, she flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his._

_Mother_ fuck.

_He didn’t understand it. He didn’t really need to. He just felt it, something deep and flushed that he had forgotten he could feel. The Tameless, fierce and fearless, would not let him go, and Gamzee didn’t want her to—_

_“Hey, bucketheads!” The voice of the Deadbeat interrupted the miracle as Gamzee lifted his head to see him. “Do I need to tell the Chimeric you’ll be in a different tent tonight?”_

_“No!” Gamzee answered instantly, and the Tameless—now releasing her grip on his shoulders—seemed to agree._

_“Got carried away there,” she managed to say, using her words now. “With… saying hello.”_

_The Deadbeat nodded smugly. “Uh-huh. Well, sunrise is in a few minutes. Don’t push your luck.”_

_“We won’t,” the Tameless said._

_He gave his two-finger salute and left, and then Tameless, brushing some of her hair back and then dislodging a chunk of fake horn, gathered her tattered self and headed for the camp as well, without a single extra word to Gamzee._

_‘Motherfuck’ actually didn’t begin to cover this._

_He had no choice but to duck into his tent as well, within moments snug and safe with his little bro, like he was meant to be. The Chimeric sounded sleepy for once, but found it in him to tell Gamzee the story of the brooding caverns in a worn, thin voice._

_They couldn’t even convince the jades to try and sleep. While the Chimeric muttered to him about the quarantine and the final code piece and the distress call, Gamzee heard snatches of laughter outside of their tent as the twenty-eight jadebloods drank in the sunlight. He could even see a shadow cast on the material of the tent: a dancer that flowed like a drop of oil in a swirling pool._


	67. Lesser Evils

Dave should have thought to keep his improvised movie theater in better repair. After that fucking atrocious attempt at a date with Terezi months ago, he had kind of let the place fall apart, which was a shame now that he had someone else he was kind of…

Matespritting. He was matespritting with Karkat. And that might not actually be a verb, but ‘matesprit’ was a much easier word to think than ‘boyfriend.’ Or ‘dating.’ Or a multitude of other words. Just dig into the xeno label and use it as a crutch to stave off the panic.

Labor staved off panic really effectively too. Dave took stock of the movie den as a whole. The couch had gotten a little musty, and the screen had fallen down, but since Dave could fly putting it back up wasn’t really an obstacle. And all the popcorn he had alchemized for the event had gone stale months ago, what was the code for popcorn again? When he captchalogued it, it just gave him the code for ‘stale popcorn.’ Maybe Karkat would be willing to spend a session at the alchemiter figuring out how to remove the staleness from the snack. Or he could just give up on popcorn entirely, but that felt almost taboo, like this place would cease to be a movie theater without popcorn. It would just collapse into the void without popcorn to keep it standing.

“Striiiiiider! Are you up here, cool kid?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Dave heard the clatter and rustle of Terezi climbing back up into the movie zone. “There you are. I wanted to let you know we’re all planning on dreaming soon.”

“How soon is soon?”

“A few hours, if we can get everyone together.”

Dave swallowed. “Oh. Okay. Um, I guess that’s fine. So soon?”

“I mean, I don’t think we need to wait any longer, and I think Aradia has finally found enough of our dead friends to help fill in the gaps of the memory.”

“You sure she’s got a full roster?”

“Not a _full_ roster. We couldn’t find a Gamzee ghost and probably don’t want to, and given the Huntsman’s role in the fight, we’re just not going to try finding a Nitram.”

“Yeah, but isn’t Karmeric in the same boat? He gets shot and vanishes. Do we need Karkat to play that?”

“I thought Karkat already agreed he’d do it. Plus, since he vanishes, we don’t know if he actually dies.”

“We keep calling this ‘the final fight’ and ‘the last stand,’ so it kinda sounds like he dies.”

Terezi stepped deeper into the room and sat down on the couch. “Look, your overprotective streak is adorable, but really unnecessary. We’re just doing our best to get to the bottom of this, and if he’s really broken up about it, you can cuddle or smooch it out later.”

“You don’t know what we do.”

“It involves your Bro’s old puppets, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck no, puppets are nasty fake people for assholes. There will be absolutely no puppets involved in any emotional recuperation following this bullshit.” Terezi giggled, and Dave sighed. “You’re just trying to get my goat about this.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Terezi teased, and of course she was right, but apparently her game wasn’t fun after Dave pointed it out, so she got to the point. “Seriously, I just came up here to let you know what the plan is. Kanaya is taking the lead on setting up a ‘slumber party,’ but if you show up and don’t feel like sleeping, you can ask Vriska for a knock-out. She’s handing those out like cheap cigars to anyone who can’t make their brain shut off enough to sleep.”  
  
“Like to Karkat?”

“Like to Karkat.”

Dave looked over at her on the couch, radiating that easy confidence he had relied on when she was just teal text from another universe. “Hey, is this Vriska’s plan or your plan?”  
  
“It’s our plan.”   
  
“Okay, but that was never really a thing before. It was always ‘the shit Vriska wanted to do’ versus ‘the shit you wanted to do to stop her.’ Is troll pale-boner love supposed to make you just never question what your moirail does ever again?”   
  
“There is no Vriska-versus-Terezi thing. It’s about as real as the John-versus-Dave thing.”

“Yeah, but this feels like a really Vriska thing that you’re just unconditionally okay with all of a sudden.”

“It’s less sudden than you think, trust me.”  
  
“Then what makes it not sudden?”   
  
“It’s like… how it used to be. But with some new parts. It’s the best of both worlds all around.”

“Sounds a little too good to be true.”  
  
“It might be. But I think it’s good enough to be true for now. Now, not that it isn’t delightful to run round in little rhetorical circles with you, I mostly need your confirmation that you’ll let our vicious little Vantas know that we’re getting ready to sleep. He definitely prioritizes your messages. Then when you’ve found him, bring him down to the common room so we can get this legendary nap going.”

Then she stood, using her cane as a counterbalance as she stretched.

“Wait.”

She did. And Dave suddenly had to figure out what he asked her to wait for. Fuck, there was just this instinct that he had to say something to her, but what? What the fuck was he waiting on? Some other quip, some burn, half of a rap? Did he want to keep sassing her over Vriska or give her a warning or a blessing or _what_?!

“...Usually when someone says ‘wait,’ they say something after,” Terezi mentioned.

“I know. Fuck, sorry. I mean, I still do want you to wait. I feel like there’s something here and it needs to get said.”

“Okaaaay?” Terezi made that face where her mouth looked squiggly and inquisitive. “Do you have a topic for this delay, or should I try and deduce it myself?”

“Hang on, I promise I’ll get to it,” Dave said. He had something of an idea, with no certainty that it was the thing that had made him call out to Terezi, but it felt equally important to say. “I think it was a thank you.”

“Oh. You’re welcome, coolkid.”

“No, not a little welcome. A big one.” Dave felt like he should be closer to Terezi when saying this, not halfway across the room, but standing or approaching would make this so much harder to say. “I mean… I want to thank you for everything. Like in the game, and after, and all the talks we had where you would like be pointlessly bamboozling and then weeks later I’d realize you had a really fucking good point about something. And I know… we shouldn’t be dating, for any number of reasons, and I’m kind of doing this thing with Karkat, but…”

Terezi hadn’t budged. He couldn’t even read her expression. But he was in this far, he should see it through.

“If there’s ever anything going on that falls outside the Vriska wheelhouse, I can’t guarantee I’ll actually be any help, or fuck, that I’ll even understand what the fuck is happening, but I want to help. Just let me know.”

Now Terezi moved. She crossed the room, dodging the coffee table, and gave Dave a hug. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her too, squeezing back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’re worried about me,” she told him. “And this means a lot to me, I promise. Thank you too, Dave.”

Dave. Not cool kid. He hugged her, noticing all the bony little angles in her body, like the leg of her shades against his cheek and the points of her shoulder blades. Then a moment later, Terezi left for real, and Dave had nothing left with which to stop her. He figured that was for the best. There was only so much sincerity he could muster before he started to feel queasy.

 

* * *

 

thaumaturgicAurelian is now contacting  crimsonGuerrilla

TA: what diid you do  
TA: what the FUCK diid you do?!  
TA: cm this wasn’t the plan  
TA: what diid you do down there?!  
TA: one recruiitment pa22 for your old teacher  
TA: that’2 what you 2aiid  
TA: not  
TA: fuck  
TA: chiimeriic!  
TA: you 2aiid you needed me two iinclude a me22agiing deviice 2o we could talk after  
TA: 2o fuckiing TALK TWO ME!  
CG: GOOD EVENING, TWINHORN. IT’S ALWAYS A PLEASURE TO SPEAK WITH YOU.  
TA: an2wer me riight the fuck now  
TA: you hurt the mother grub  
TA: thii2 wa2n’t the plan  
TA: you diidn’t 2ay  
TA: you diidn’t tell me  
CG: I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU NEEDED TO DO WHAT I NEEDED.  
CG: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO ASSUMED MY INTENTIONS IN THE CAVERNS WERE BENIGN.  
TA: 2o you planned two do thii2 from the begiinniing  
TA: you back2tabbiing fuck  
CG: SO IT GOES.  
CG: REALLY, I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU MANAGED TO KEEP BELIEVING I GAVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU THROUGH THE SWEEPS, THROUGH MY MURDER SPREE AND RADIO SILENCE AND OUTRAGEOUS DEMANDS.  
CG: ANY EXPECTATION THAT I WOULD PLAY FAIR IS JUST DELUSION ON YOUR PART.  
TA: you fucker  
TA: you MON2TER  
TA:  2o iit’2 not enough two become the wor2t kiiller beforu2 ha2 ever 2een, you’d rather the whole 2peciie2 go extiinct than lo2e?  
CG: I HAVEN’T LOST A THING. LIFE IS GOING PERFECTLY FOR ME.  
CG: KINDA MAKES A TROLL THINK HE’S UNSTOPPABLE.  
TA: you’re deranged  
TA: a fuckiing p2ychopath  
CG: YOU KNEW THAT GOING IN, AND YOU EITHER DIDN’T CARE OR YOU CHOSE TO FORGET.  
CG: IT’S NOT LIKE IT MATTERS. I HAVE EVERYTHING I WANT AND NOTHING STANDING IN MY WAY.  
TA: maybe iit’2 tiime ii 2tood iin your way  
TA: diidn’t you 2ay ii had two be the one two end you? after you diid 2omethiing two terriible for me two 2tand?  
TA: becau2e thii2 fuckiing qualiifiie2!  
CG: THE FUTURE ISN’T SET IN STONE. THE CIRCUITOUS PATH I’VE TAKEN TO GREATNESS PROVES THAT.  
CG: MAYBE THE CHIMERA SAID YOU’D END ME, BUT I JUST CAN’T FATHOM HOW THAT WOULD BE POSSIBLE NOW.  
CG: THERE’S NOTHING YOU HAVE THAT CAN OVERCOME WHAT I HAVE BUILT.  
TA: do you even realiize how iin2ane you 2ound?  
CG: I’M THE ONE WITH THE ARMY THAT OUTCLASSES THE EMPIRE, NOT YOU.   
CG: YOU’RE LITTLE MORE THAN A HACK OF A HACKER WITH SO MANY BRAINS AND ABSOLUTELY NO POWER.  
CG: MAYBE I SHOULD CRUSH THE API ANYWAY, JUST TO TEACH YOU HOW WEAK AND USELESS YOU ARE.  
TA: 2top thii2 riight now or ii 2wear  
TA: you’ll pay  
TA: ii’m gonna make you pay!  
CG: PUT YOUR CAEGAR WHERE YOUR CANINES ARE.  
CG: I AM THE CHIMERIC AND I AM ASCENDANT.  
CG: ALL WHO CANNOT ABIDE MY NEW WORLD ORDER WILL DIE AND NONE CAN STOP ME!  
CG: RECOGNIZE ME AS YOUR NEW GOD OR I WILL DESTROY ALL YOU LOVE!  
CG: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!?  
CG: IF YOU STAND IN MY WAY I WILL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB AND WEAR YOUR HORNS ON A CHAIN AROUND MY NECK!!!

thaumaturgicAurelian has blocked  chimericGuerilla

_Gamzee hadn’t intended to read all that. The Chimeric’s little device had started buzzing, and when he picked it up, he had got this somber look on his face and nestled himself back into Gamzee’s embrace. So Gamzee kind of had no choice but to read over the Chimeric’s shoulder as he answered Twinhorn’s fear with line after line of furious red._

_“Went a little crazy on him, didn’t you?” Gamzee ventured._

_“I had to. To make sure he does what he’s going to do next.” He sighed and leaned harder against Gamzee, tugging one thick arm around him like a snuggleplane. “Murfle, I’m a monster.”_

_“You named yourself after a monster, too.”_

_“Those were simpler times, when I was ignorant and stupid and nothing mattered.”_

_“Hey now, shoosh to that noise. Your wigglerhood was a motherfucking miracle. I know cuz I was there.”_

_The Chimeric gave a small smile, but closed his eyes. The stress stayed knit between his brows in a painful-looking knot. What Gamzee wouldn’t give to soothe it or bear it himself. “…Remember when this all just got started?” he said._

_“Which point are you considering the beginning?”_

_“On that motherfucking boat, and we had some of our first piles. You were still trying to sort out what all this prophetiziation meant, and you told me about the wigglers, and how much awful shit is going to happen to them?”_

_“Yes. I remember.”_

_“You worried that you were gonna hurt people… and that you’d feel nothing,” Gamzee reminded him. “And you’ve soaked our hands in more paint than this planet has ever seen spilled, and never for a single motherfucking second have you forgotten how to feel. Every time it happens, it hurts. You even feel bad for working the wicked harshwhimsy on that motherfucker Twinhorn, don’t you?”_

_He wrapped himself further in Gamzee’s arm and nodded._

_“Then you’re not a monster. You’re still a man, making the choices you need to go get to where you gotta motherfucking go.”_

_The Chimeric smiled against Gamzee’s chest, then unraveled himself to climb higher and kiss Gamzee’s forehead. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. Thank you.”_

_Gamzee pulled the Chimeric close for another hug, but that small, pale kiss made Gamzee think of the larger and redder one from yesterday. Maybe he should ask the Chimeric to stay a little longer and jam out these romantic peculiarities with him, but with the early evening fading into deeper night, Gamzee knew his moirail had better things to do. He’d survive this weight on his heart for a couple of hours while they got up and did what needed doing._

_When they left their tent, the camp was mobilizing, breaking down their shelters and supplies and packing them into wheeled transports, the old types that would use trollpower to roll. The motorized kinds wouldn’t last in this terrain anyway. The jadebloods seemed bemused by the activity and efficiency, whispering to each other as a few of their number raised hands to volunteer assistance. The Chimeric left Gamzee’s side to assist with that, explaining to their greenest ruddies what exactly this rebellion was all about and what role they’d have in it. A presentation of the decalogue would be in order, too._

_And Gamzee didn’t need to be part of that ethical-political motherfuckery. He’d just start breaking down the tent and packing it up on a cart._

_He nearly had the entire mess of tarps tied up all neat-like when he heard the Tameless speak. “Hey, Mirthful?”_

_“What is_ up _, kittybitch?” he responded, with a skin-crawlingly awkward strain in his voice. Glancing her way, she had her old tatters back on, the ballgown from three sweeps ago altered to be more functional for a half-feral woman. Back to normal, back to routine._

_“I wanted to say something about… yesterday.”_

_Or not._

_“I mean, I get it—you were happy to get out of the caves. Probably would have kissed any motherfucker who shook you, right?” The implication of promiscuity hit him half a second too late, so he rushed to add, “That’s a joke, hope it… comes across like it.”_

_“No, you’re right. Maybe not_ anyone _, but you weren’t the only one.”_

_“…Wait, what?”_

_“I know I did this rashly, but I did mean to. Kiss you. I wanted to do that and I don’t think it was a mistake.”_   
  
_“So there’s some flushed feelings going on here?”_   
_  
_ “I think so. But this is all so new to me. The roarbeasts never had formal quadrants, they just had… instinct.”

_“So you’re saying you’ve got… instinct feelings for me? Not flushed ones?”_

_Her cheeks glowed green, but her chin stayed defiantly raised. “I think my instinctive feelings are flushed. So it’s both.”_

_“Oh,” Gamzee swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m really sorry wildsis, I want to get my understand on to what you’re explicating in my direction, but I’m really motherfucking lost. Are you wanting us to share a square or some shit?”_

_“Does it have to be in a quadrant?”_

_“Uh…” Why did Gamzee keep assuming that he had heard everything? This was so obviously not true._

_The Tameless shuffled her feet, cloth-wrapped toes digging into the dirt. “I know this will probably sound terrible to someone raised in a normal way. I get that for everyone else, when you find one person that you have one type of feelings for, that’s it—and you take up a quadrant with them and you share that feeling together. But I don’t know how… or if… I can make myself do that. Because you’re right, that kiss was more about finally being out of those fucking caves than romance, but… I don’t think that’s a bad thing? Does that make sense?”_

_He gave it a minute and honestly tried to think it through. “I’m sorry, Wildsis, but it really doesn’t.”_

_“Yeah… it doesn’t make much sense to me, either.” She looked down sadly, and Gamzee wished he wasn’t the thing making her look so sad._

_“Well, hey, just let me try explicating it one more time to see if I got it right. You’re looking for flush stuff without a quadrant?”_

_“I think so,” she said. “Unless you don’t feel the same way?”_   
_  
_ He did. He really motherfucking did. Something ineffable and incredible within him knew he felt the same way. After so long with her, comrades in arms and travel and resistance, brought so close together as part of the Chimeric’s inner circle… he did love her. She had even designed his new paint, for his life without the Messiahs.

_But that new face, with its dragon and lion jaws, proved why it would never work._

_“I think we talked about this once, kinda,” Gamzee said. “I told you I wouldn’t be… seeking other quadrants. If we went for this, even with flush and pale being motherfucking polarities, I couldn’t love you with the same motherfucking depth I love him. That feels all kinds of motherfucking unjust.”_

_“How?”_

_“That a ninjalicious kittybitch would ever be made to feel like she’s second place to some other motherfucker.”_

_“But I don’t understand why it has to be a competition. I don’t need to be first or second or last place. I just have feelings, which you share, and… I don’t see why there’s problem.”_

_The Tameless looked so earnest, so sincere. Gamzee wished he could be the troll she wanted. This would just be so much easier if he could just say, ‘fine, make yourself satisfied with me.’ He’d probably enjoy whatever the Tameless wanted from him in the first place._

_“Where’s the Tameless?” a ruddy voice called around the camp. “Roll-out is in ten!”_

_She glanced away from Gamzee, then back, more nervous than before. “Can we talk about this later?”_

_“Back in Grizzhod, abso-motherfucking-lutely,” Gamzee promised, and so the Tameless left._

_Gamzee turned to the tent, finished packing it up, then loaded it onto one of the carts, falling into a banal discussion with some other ruddies around about whose turn it would be to pull it when. Gamzee could take a pulling shift for sure, especially on the early side. He had a feeling the Chimeric would want to take a late one, giving his energy to see his exhausted companions through to safety._

_It was easier to put that conversation with the Tameless in the back of his mind when he had work to do, but he couldn’t shake it entirely. Even with all his argumentations that it would be unjust to take a quadrant with the Tameless, it felt just as unjust to leave her in the cold like that. What kind of sorry motherfucker was he, making someone as brave and beautiful as the Tameless feel all motherfucking unwanted? And maybe she’d be fine, following her instinct and satisfying the urge to pail with some different motherfucker, and all would be fine._

_But it wasn’t so easy to just absolve himself of responsibility like that._

_The battalion started to move, following the Tameless’s direction, and Gamzee dutifully took up a position pulling a supply cart. Most others were walking, the jades included, and Gamzee caught sight of his little bro’s back and the heavy lump in the bottom of his bag._

_And that reminded him of something else he had believed in, to ease the weight of regret for things left undone in his span._

So I got no motherfucking idea who has the power to answer this prayer I got in my motherfucking pan… but my flushed feelings for the Tameless will be left unfinished in my span. May my motherfucking descendant take up that unfinished work and love her descendant. Cherish and treasure her like she deserves.

_Maybe it was cowardly, but it helped give him peace to believe that prayer would be answered._


	68. Conversation

_ The Lodestar recovered well, watched by little birds and nut creatures that could slip into the API’s mediculling bay, while Tavros stayed in the forest. The area was smaller than Tavros expected, and even as a healthy forest, Tavros couldn’t put together his shelter or survival equipment without assistance. He spent the time waiting for her recovery leaned against a tree, enticing creatures to bring him small morsels of nuts and roots, and dragging himself with his arms if he needed to seek denser shade before sunrise. It left him a lot of time to stew on all the ways he and the Lodestar had been wronged through the sweeps. People who cared too much, cared not at all, cared only for their own gain, cared about the wrong things… _

I miss flying. If we could just fly away, someplace new, nothing would harm us again.

_ Twinhorn even kept his promise, at far greater effort than expected. The sudden appearance of a wounded burgundyblood unable to account for her previous culler set the entire organization on high alert, and Twinhorn had to sneak her out under cover of sunlight. Only an ill-fitted sunrunning coat kept the Lodestar from arriving with major burns to accompany her still-healing concussion. If security was tightening, this meant they were out of medical care options. The next time one of them got hurt—and Tavros felt that was a when, not an if—it would spell the end of everything. _

_ The Lodestar had strict orders to not use her powers for at least another week, on risk of further brain damage. But at least she had her hands and legs, and she could help Tavros explore the plot of forest where Twinhorn promised they would be safe. They discovered resources for camping to be in shorter supply than usual. Tavros hadn’t thought to recover their gear after he ran the Portress and her cloves away, and curious beasts had already torn things like their tents and insulation to shreds. Only the metal could be recovered with the help of some ring-tailed theifbeasts, and that came back dented and shaky. Building an actual shelter, or any other structure, looked downright impossible from just scavenging alone, but Tavros and the Lodestar had nothing to do but try. _

_ With the Lodestar’s help, they set up a fire pit and some stones around it, a designated gaper, and the closest thing to a sunproof shelter they could build out of too-short sticks and an artful deconstruction of the sunrunning suit the Lodestar had used to escape the golden hivestems. He had the Lodestar here, and that was what mattered, but there was nothing else to do but sit and stew on how stuck they were. _

_ She had new stories for him: from the perspective of the rest of the world, the ruddies had turned themselves into a band of demons terrorizing the planet. The losses from Grizzhod alone made Tavros feel sick. He saw death and decay in the wild as a matter of routine, but it all gave way to new life, and while a predator couldn’t be stopped from hunting, they would never harm one of their own. This violence of troll against troll felt like a corruption, something unnatural tainting their world. _

_ He didn’t like talking about it, and he told the Lodestar so, but he could see it in the way she held her elbows and looked at the ground when she walked. It was bothering her, making her feel as sick and weak and helpless as him. _

_ “What are we supposed to do about this?” she asked. _

_ “We’re doing nothing. No side is making very convincing arguments, for why they’re any good. The ruddies and cullers are going to fight. We’ll stay put until they’re done.” _

_ Her charitable heart hated this answer, but Tavros did his best to ignore it. The last time they had been charitable, the Lodestar had nearly died. He was through. _

_ Or at least he wanted to be. _

_ The forest knew Twinhorn was coming before he arrived. The smaller beasts saw him running and stumbling, but pushing forward. When Tavros watched through their eyes, he saw the other troll looked scared. _

_ The Lodestar noticed him space out. “What is it?” _

_ “We’ve got a guest coming.” _

_ “You’re not panicking, so it’s someone we know, right?”  _

_ “It’s Twinhorn, but  _ he’s _ panicking.” _

_ The Lodestar fell silent, and they waited for the goldblood’s arrival. His gangly form didn’t know how to effectively navigate the woods, and another strange detail stood out to Tavros: why wasn’t he using his powers? _

_ “What’s wrong?” The Lodestar moved closer to him first, taking his shaking hand and easing him toward a sitting rock on the edge of their cooking pit. He didn’t resist her, and as soon as he had a seat, his shoulders crumpled. _

_ “He’s out of his fucking sponge, he’s gonna end it all, just pull the plug and end us all,” Twinhorn rambled. “He thinks he’s a god, he’s not going to stop—“ _

_ “Twinhorn, breathe!” the Lodestar insisted. “Tell us what happened!” _

_ “He—he…” Twinhorn tried, and it took another moment before he could even form a sentence. “Chimeric… broke into the brooding caverns. He poisoned the mother grub. And I helped him do it, I made the blood, I made identities, it’s all my fault, fuck—” _

_ “You helped him poison her?!” _

_ “No! I mean—he lied! He told me it was just recruitment, but he—he was lying, and now we—we don’t know what’s happening, I didn’t know,” Twinhorn kept mumbling as the Lodestar tried to quiet him. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know he’d do this, I didn’t mean to—I did this but I didn’t mean to—” _

_ “Shhhh,” she kept urging. “Shhhhh…” _

_ Tavros wished again he had his legs, so he could get off the damn hoofbeast and give this suffering man a hug or something to help. He had only two unforgettable brushes with the Chimeric: an adolescent who looked at him with a sense of justice and a titled troll supporting the fragile body of someone he loved, and that was it. When he started hearing stories about the Chimeric’s vengeful thirst for power, he didn’t have many assumptions that he needed to correct. How different it had to be for someone who had called the Chimeric a friend—someone who had tried to help him. And the idea that something might have happened to the mother grub—that the species could die…  _

_ Maybe Tavros wanted a hug for his own sake, more than Twinhorn’s. _

_ When the Lodestar had him calmer, Twinhorn finally started to focus on details unrelated to his involvement. “The Compasse’s… she’s—she’s authorizing… force. They’re going to fight. They’re going to kill, but… I don’t think it’ll be enough. He has more than her. He won’t give up no matter what, I know it.” _

_ “That’s impossible, she’s our Empress! She’ll know what to do, she has to.”  _

_ The Lodestar sounded so confident, but after all they had seen with the ruddies, learning to fear them as much as cullers, he knew her bravado was false, for Twinhorn’s sake. An aberration like the Chimeric had never been seen on Beforus. The assumption that the gracious tyrian Empress would always overcome no longer held. If the mother grub could be threatened, why not her? Why not them all? _

_ Twinhorn sniffed, looked up at the Lodestar, and then Tavros. His two-tone shades had fallen into his lap, showing eyes that matched. He looked Tavros up and down and blinked at him like he was seeing him for the first time. “Wait.” _

_ “Wait, what?” _

_ “This is… this is it,” Twinhorn finally said. “There’s—god, this story is so fucked up, I can’t… I can’t believe I just… didn’t say anything…” _

_ “Breathe,” the Lodestar urged again. “What’s ‘it?’” _

_ “Right when this started, the Chimeric contacted me. He told me… he was going to hurt people, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I needed to end him. And when it was time, I’d have the power to do it.” _

_ “Okay…?” Tavros ventured. Really, if Twinhorn had just said something right when he got that message, the Chimeric would already be ended. _

_ “You don’t get it, that power was never mine—it was yours!” Twinhorn stood up. “You can commune with animals—you can raise an army! Birds, bears, wolves, carnivores, hunters—you’re the fucking Huntsman, aren’t you!?” _

_ “Now hang on there, just hang on,” Tavros said, urging Oberion to back away from Twinhorn. “Didn’t you just say, the Compasse, she’s using force too?” _

_ “They won’t be enough, I know they won’t! Maybe they’ll clash with the ruddies but if the Chimeric survives, escapes, anything, this won’t end! We need to end him, and you can raise an army faster and fiercer than any army of trolls!” The Delegate looked nearly delirious, placing every remnant of hope he had left on Tavros’s shoulders. “Huntsman, it’s up to you!” _

_ “No—no, I don’t want to do this! This isn’t our fight!” _

_ “My love, I know you’re scared,” the Lodestar spoke up. “And I promise I am too, but he harmed the mother grub. This fight belongs to all of us. And I know you’d rather let them destroy themselves, but the ruddies have made our lives a living hell, and they’re the reason the cullers are getting worse too!” _

_ “Your powers, you can’t—” _

_ “They’ve recovered enough to protect us. But if we have the chance to make this all end and we don’t take it, what does that make us?!” Lodestar clasped her hands together, struggling to keep her own composure. “And… remember Mistress Benevole? She let us keep our freedom when you needed help, and now this is our chance to stop someone who hurt the mother she’s sworn to defend!” _

_ Twinhorn flinched at the name ‘Benevole,’ but didn’t say anything. “Look, I know this isn’t your fight, but you’re the only one who can stop it. Do you think I’d be asking if I thought there was another way?” _

_ Tavros looked between them, from his matesprit to his champion, and he could feel their expectations, their weight, their fears and cries and what they were asking of him, and the terror unleashed on the species, and his own fear that they were making some incalculable mistake. _

_ “I… I need a minute,” Tavros answered. He backed up further until he had space to turn. _

_ They both shouted after him, but he didn’t stop. He urged the hoofbeast faster, deeper into the forest and away from the shitty camp he called hive. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t, and maybe that made him a coward or a weakling, but those labels couldn’t make him change. Since when did strength on Beforus become the same thing as violence!? And so he kept running, and running, Oberion’s muscles rippling between those strapped-down useless limbs that used to be legs, and Tavros squeezed his eyes shut against the wind and his own tears. _

_ Around him, the forest started to thin, letting Oberion out into an enormous field. The hoofbeast felt soothed at the sight of such an expanse, and Tavros could take at least a little comfort in how at least one of them felt better. Oberion thundered forward at a full sprint, like he was racing himself to the other side of the meadow. _

_ And then Tavros heard a voice.  _

**_Hello._ **

_ A shudder ran down his spine as he pushed the command to ‘stop’ into Oberion, forcing the hoofbeast to halt as he whipped his head around for the source of the voice. It sounded like the inner voice of an animal, but which one? Tavros had only extended his power into Oberion! _

**_Do not be afraid. We are here to assist you, but we do not have time to dawdle._ **

_ He had never heard a voice like that before. He had never had another beast initiate communion either.  _

What are you? _ Tavros asked of it. _

**_We will appear shortly. Please prepare your companion for our arrival. It will be sudden._ **

_ Almost at a loss, Tavros brushed his hand along Oberion’s neck in a familiar, soothing gesture, urging him with his mind to stay still and calm. And in a moment, the air… fizzled, crackled, and a lusus-white creature appeared out of nowhere. It looked like a lion, lean and proud with white fur, but a pair of leathery wings rose off of its back. The animal took a few steps, rotating, and Tavros saw the other half of its body was the front-half of a dragon. _

You’re real!?

**_Yes. We have been called a chimera and we are the First Guardian of this planet._ **

_ The chimera could think in a language that Tavros understood, but each word felt heavier, like it contained truth far more powerful than the literal definition. It called itself a First Guardian, and Tavros knew what that meant: a being created from slime imprints of component parts, then combined with a potent genetic code granting omnipotence and near-omniscience, and then sent back in time to the dawn of a planet’s history to prepare its dominant species for sentience, civilization, and eventual annihilation. It hurt, for a simple phrase to expand into something so massive, but Tavros held tight to Oberion’s reins and gritted his teeth against the psychic weight. _

What are you… doing here?  _ He asked it through the pain.  _ I thought you… and the Chimeric…

**_We have no allegiance. Our intervention is in service of your species’ ultimate destiny._ **

_ ‘Ultimate destiny’ expanded too. A dimension outside of space, kingdoms of light and darkness, the crucible of unlimited creative potential, frogs—so many frogs—and the perpetuation of reality, a chain woven into a plane woven into a tube into a circle into an unfathomable knot, unbroken since before the dawn of existence. His head started to ache. _

**_We apologize. We are not here to harm you, but we are also unaccustomed to individuals able to understand us so deeply._ **

Then… why are you here?

**_We are here to assist. You are facing great depths of self-doubt concerning your next action and what has been asked of you by others._ **

_ Tavros waited a moment to catch his breath, feeling over the implication of the chimera’s words.  _ Don’t you already know, what I’m going to do?

**_The choice to take that action still belongs to you. We are here to assist._ **

…We?

_ The dragon-face smiled at Tavros.  _ **_We are one Guardian, but we are not a single consciousness. We know that you have many more questions about the construction of our mind but please trust us, that topic is irrelevant and we must not dawdle._ **

_ He could live with that. The omnipotent cloning thing probably had something to do with it, so he could chalk the pronoun stuff up to ‘weird science’ and move on.  _ Is this like what you did last time, to the Chimeric? Three sweeps ago?

**_He cannot comprehend our voice the way you can, which forced us to be blunt. That is not necessary here. Please trust that we are here to assist you. We know what is asked of you and we want to alleviate your fears._ **

_ With a deep breath, and with the sharp pain of the psychic weight passed, Tavros ventured to ask:  _ what are they doing now?

_ The chimera understood what he meant, and Tavros could see the ratty camp, clear as if he had never left. He could see Twinhorn, fresh out of tears, poking at the ground with a stick. The Lodestar sat next to him, and they spoke in hushed tones. The topic concerned trying to find another way to strike at the ruddies, with Twinhorn’s own psionics and the Lodestar’s support. _

They’ll fight without me? So do they not need me?

**_They will not win without you._ **

What will ‘winning’ look like?

**_Why do you ask that?_ **

Because I don’t think fighting will win anything. None of this should have started, and I think it’s your fault, that we’re fighting in the first place. If you had left the Chimeric alone, or shown him something else, we wouldn’t be at war, and no one would have died! This was avoidable!

**_It was not._ **

And I just have to trust that, because you’re the magic monster with all the answers!?

**_Yes._ **

_ Tavros glared at the chimera in disgust, which it could probably read in his mind.  _ Then what is this all supposed to accomplish?

**_There are children who come after. The Chimeric’s actions have altered the fabric of Beforan society in a way that is necessary to their development._ **

_ Tavros could see them as the chimera spoke. Twelve of them, wigglers, ordered in a neat hemospectral sequence. He recognized many of the bloodlines incarnated over again, some by sign and some by appearance, and saw another with his sign and horns. He swallowed hard, his mind starting to ache as it processed these visions, but Tavros felt it could be for another reason, too. Something deep and fond to the point of painful welled up in him as he tried to contemplate it. _

Is he… really mine?

**_Yes._ **

_ Tavros bit his lip and fought back tears. This boy was a descendant— _ his _ descendant—something he never for an instant thought he would have. It was like a kernel of promise that his life would not end in futility. He had long assumed genetic incarnations were coolblood nonsense that people like Prospera believed in, but it turned out she was right, because there she was too, a cerulean girl with a funny eye.  _

_ Before he could even complete the thought, the chimera answered.  _ **_Your descendant is safe from Prospera’s. Aranea Serket will harm none of your bloodline._ **

_ Ordinarily, he would distrust a statement like that, but how could he when an omniscient being was the one telling it to him? He nodded and focused back on the existence of the line as a whole.  _ So the Chimeric has to do something, to help these twelve?

**_He is attempting to, and the attempt will set further actions into motion. Perhaps others could have been inspired to wage war on this planet and lay groundwork for the heiress and her companions, but the Chimeric was the only one who could serve another purpose as well._ **

Which is?

**_There has been a glitch. It is beyond our capability to correct, and while we are already suffering from its effects, its source does not yet exist. Our actions are attempting to mitigate the damage of the glitch even as we create its conditions._ **

_ Tavros could feel the chimera consciously attempting to keep its words the proper size, but his brain ached again to try and contemplate the recursive logic in play.  _ I don’t understand any of this.

**_It is not necessary that you understand. It is also not our intention to fully explain all of reality to you._ ** _ The chimera started to take small steps, turning itself around in a circle so its lion half could face Tavros.  _ **_We are off topic._ **

You’re going to convince me, that I need to go and fight?

**_We understand why you do not want to fight. And we do want to persuade you that you should. We can promise that you will win._ **

_ The word ‘win’ expanded differently this time. Tavros could see decades worth of time spread out before him like a mosaic, each tile representing an entire lifespan but viewed in its entirety in an instant. The Compasse at the center, atoning for the bloodshed from all sides, having surrendered much of her finery and entertainment. Her already hard work grew harder, to the point where her position resembled a glorified slave, but she never complained, never wept, and set a new example for her species. Coolbloods following suit, ashamed of what some of their color had done, felt a renewed dedication to her Radiant Compassion’s philosophy. Warmbloods retreated into their care, but had more courage to speak up when someone unscrupulous cared for them. All in all, trollkind would behave like squeakbeasts in a nest, huddling together in collaboration, complacency, and fear. Tavros knew so many trolls who would hate such a future, but he could feel the omniscient certainty behind one specific fact: no one like Prospera would ever find root in a world like that. _

And… can you guarantee that the Lodestar will be safe?

_ Instantly, the scene changed. Tavros could see the Lodestar, but aged, so very old and achingly feeble, the weight of her horns too much for her own neck as she sat beside an idyllic brook in a quiet forest. The chimera itself lay beside her, docile and steady, as she leaned against it and closed her eyes. Tavros knew her life ended that moment, after an impressively long span for her color. _

I’m not there.

**_Yes._ **

Why am I not there?

_ And the chimera showed him. _


	69. Anticipation

_The news reached Grizzhod, because it had to. When the Empire cut off the city from all its utilities, ruddies immediately set to work rigging up whatever they could to patch the grid and provide power. And that meant they could get the newsfeeds._

_And that meant trolls hammering down Eridan’s door._

_“What the hell?!” an angry commander shouted at him. “The fuck does he think he’s doing!?”_

_“He made a great big speech about it, all full a inspirational rhetoric,” Eridan answered, not caring much about the thickness of his sarcasm. “Everyone sounded on board then.”_

_“He lied to us! That was a speech about independence and self-determination, we didn’t know he’d try and kill the current mother!”_

_“That’s not what he’s done, even the newsfeeds are careful with that. It’s a sickness. If the jades are as good as they claim to be, there’s no risk to her health.”_

_“But why does the Chimeric consider it acceptable to threaten the mother at all?! Where in the decalogue does it say that this shit is okay?!”_

_“It doesn’t! So you’re goin’ to have to sit back and wait for the Chimeric to come back and tell you himself!” And he kicked the commander out, but knew some other irate ruddy would be hounding him soon._

_Eridan was supposed to be in charge until the Chimeric returned, but there were two problems with that. Now that news of what the Chimeric had done had spread through the ruddies, no one was willing to stay on task for other meetings. After all, infrastructure repairs took a backseat to the moral outrage of their brave leader’s actions. That was the first problem._

_The second problem was how these conditions matched the instructions left in the Chimeric’s letter. He wouldn’t be coming back at all, and Eridan could only buy himself so much time before others caught on._

 

* * *

 

_Aradia first knew the Huntsman was ‘back’ when a cholerbear appeared at the edge of their camp. And then a howlbeast joined it, and then another, and then another, and then great horned stagbeasts, and then an armored cholerbear, more and more until the Huntsman appeared astride Oberion. He helped Aradia up onto his saddle and confirmed to Twinhorn he was ready to fight, and gave instructions on where he could intercept the rebels._

_The change of heart surprised Aradia, but did not concern her. She always knew her matesprit was capable of this, believing in his power and courage even when he wouldn’t believe in it himself. So as he galloped, gathering more animals to join his army without breaking pace, she clung to his back and conserved her power. She wanted to be at full charge in case she needed to fly later._

_Fears and doubts flickered in the back of her head, but she squeezed her eyes shut against them. As they charged along, they made a plan for this, at least a simple one. Aradia would follow the Huntsman into battle, stay hidden, and act as his backup. Then she would have the ability to message Twinhorn, nearby but further out, if there was a need for extra psionic firepower. Otherwise, the Huntsman would be sure to direct any fleeing ruddies Twinhorn’s way, so that those who escaped the battle would still be captured._

_And if that included the Chimeric, she would kill him herself._

_Aradia hadn’t quite discussed that part with Twinhorn or the Huntsman, but she knew she was capable of it. She had already attempted murder in the wake of finding the Huntsman crippled, and felt comfortable with the consequences when she had a good cause. If it was for the Huntsman, if that was what it took to stop this bloody war, she would kill in the name of peace._

_Still more animals drew closer, and for a moment, the Huntsman slowed Oberion and let the river of beasts flow around them._

_“My love?” she asked, faltering a little._

_“It’s fine, Starshine,” he answered, one hand moving to cover hers. “I just need to call a messenger.”_

_“What do you need a messenger for?”_

_“Trust me on this one.”_

_Aradia stayed still and waited, and after a few minutes more, the hoofbeast started running again. “So you found what you needed?”_

_“Absolutely. This is all going to end tonight, one way or another.”_

_She nodded, and held her Huntsman tight._

 

* * *

 

 _The phones were not functioning, but Equius had expected that. These lines were built for routine conversation and were not_ strong _enough to carry the simultaneous messages of an entire panicked species at once._

_While he listened to mechanical dial tones, he kept one eye trained on the newsfeeds. The Compasse had made a decision to broadly announce the Chimeric’s inexcusable actions in the caverns, approaching the line between information and propaganda. Frankly, Equius believed it was about time. The Chimeric’s own propaganda had been circulated with little challenge for sweeps. It was time for the coolest among them to announce truth to the world._

_Still, his heart could not stay quiet. There would be more bloodshed before this was done, now that the Compasse authorized extreme force against the ruddies. As the newsfeeds showed the Chimeric’s face and those of his identified lieutenants, Equius couldn’t help thinking of three sweeps ago, when a daring troll with a blood mutation and the Empress’s endorsement had submitted a thesis to become a Guardian. Equius had read that volume cover-to-cover twice, and found his only disagreement to be moral. The Chimeric had been well-reasoned and well-read, and even Equius’s opposition to him had stayed… respectful._

_And then this. It would be a millennia before culling reform proposals ever entered the public consciousness again. After this, all reform would too closely resemble the ideas of people who once poisoned the mother of their own species._

Chimeric, you have guaranteed the extinction of your own ideology.

_The tinny speaker at his ear crackled. “This is the office of the transportation Director, please state your name.”_

_“I am Guardian Trueshot, and I request that you connect me to the Director immediately.”_

_“The Director is occupied at this time—”_

_“I have in my care a senior auxiliatrix who will become a danger to herself if she cannot travel to the brooding caverns and volunteer assistance. Interrupt the Director and let me speak with him.”_

_“I… I mean, I want to, Guardian,” the voice on the other end said. “But the Director is… speaking to the generals, we’re trying to verify what the ruddies plan to do. They may be trying to capture more jadebloods.”_

_“Why would they take that action?”_

_The voice made a nervous keening sound. “Okay, you didn’t hear it from me, but… the caverns reported a missing matriorb. If it’s stolen, then the ruddies want to build their own caverns… and they need jadebloods for that. There are a handful of deserters, but not enough for their purposes. If we let them kidnap any more jades, maybe_ senior auxiliatrices _…”_

_The specially reinforced audio receiver creaked in his hand as he gripped it. “I understand,” Equius said. “Then please do everything in your power to ensure the Director answers me the moment he is available. The Benevole is a loyal servant of the mother grub and Her Radiance and she should be treated as such.”_

_“Acknowledged, Guardian. I’ll inform him of your call.”_

_The line went dead, and Trueshot set the receiver down. He detested the spread of rumors and speculation, but the risk of targeted kidnappings of jadebloods was the only reason he could accept a decision to force the Benevole to stay put. Still, the information was supposed to be confidential; even knowing that she had no means or motive to spread it further, would it be prudent to try and explain the reason for his obstinacy? Or would the possibility of a stolen matriorb cause the Benevole even greater distress?_

_He heard a thundering_ bang _from somewhere outside. Immediately, he thought of the Benevole, possibly escaping her block through the window—but that should be impossible, shattering the window would require more force than she could produce—until he heard it again. No, that sound wasn’t coming from the upstairs or the window. That was outside._

_Equius left the phone and newsfeeds and stepped out of the hive, looking to the barn with his hoofbeasts and one very notable exception. The doors of the barn thundered one more time, then cracked, and a white lusus bounded out, taking off in the direction of the forest._

_“Pounce!” Equius shouted after the beast, but she wouldn’t listen, and in a minute she had vanished. But where was she going? And could Equius abandon his post to chase her?_

_Of course he couldn’t, that would be ridiculous. So he did the best he could to patch up the barn door for the safety of the hoofbeasts inside and then returned to the hive, waiting for the transportation Director’s return call._

 

* * *

 

_Vriska had never driven a vehicle this fast. Heart pounding harder than she had ever felt, the vehicle tore down the largely abandoned highways in the most general direction of the caverns. Few roads would lead directly to it, and she expected them all to be crawling with soldiers now who would confuse Vriska and the Vigilant for terrible criminals._

_Well,_ ruddy _criminals. They were both criminals at this point._

_Lawscale in the passenger’s side gripped the center console and door handle as tightly as she could, bracing herself against the acceleration. She didn’t have the benefit of seeing where the road went, so she instead prepared for a turn at any moment. But above all, Lawscale looked… grim. That was appropriate, after all. One way or another, this had to be the end of the rebellion._

_They had spoken very sparingly, mostly concerning Vriska’s old cavebreak fantasies and the location where she believed they could intercept the Chimeric and any entourage he had. It must be a small force, since they had slipped out of Grizzhod without being reported, and that meant there would be no middle-management to turn them away from an audience with the Chimeric. Vriska had always been a bit of a gambler, improving her odds through manipulation of facts and also some outright cheating. But the odds of the Chimeric_ not _being part of this crack team responsible for breaking into the brooding caverns were low enough to be considered impossible._

_Vriska’s expert driving delivered them to the split-point swiftly, so she cut the engine and stepped out. The road overlooked a deep valley, full of twists and turns where once-upon-a-time, Vriska had dreamed of hiding with the Benevole, if she could be persuaded to abandon her duties._

_“Hang on, we should be able to see them,” Vriska said. “There has to be at least a few dozen of them, maybe more!”_

_“Prospera, please remember that I can see nothing, so there is nothing for me to see here,” Lawscale sassed her, leaving the vehicle and breathing deeply to sense her surroundings. “I still think this is a good starting point. They_ would _have come here.”_

_“But why didn’t they? What distracted them?”_

_“That’s less important than where they would go once distracted. Something made them believe this path is non-viable and will lead to capture, not safety. Where would be your back-up route if this one was not viable?”_

_Vriska pointed to the south, tracing the line of the trees with her finger, until she saw a lookout point. The vehicle would actually be able to bring them very close to there, and then they could make a further decision about where to go after that._

_“…You just pointed, didn’t you.”_

_“Shut up! I was getting my bearings and I was about to report to you. We can go south and re-assess there. Either we’ll see evidence of the Chimeric or we won’t.”_

_“Do we have enough time for me to empty my gastric sac in anticipation of your insane driving?”_

_“No, we do not. Get back in the vehicle.”_

_Vriska barely waited for Lawscale’s door to close before whipping the vehicle’s wheel around, back and forth, until they were pointed back the way they came. And as Vriska floored the accelerator, she realized there were birds rising up from the valley. But they weren’t honkbeasts or other waterfowl; they were raptorbeasts, flocking together, and flying in the same direction as Vriska’s lookout._

_For some reason, that image finally filled Vriska with the same dread she saw on Lawscale’s face._

 

* * *

 

_Nepeta would never again take the moons for granted. She always felt most comfortable outside, but after seeing life in the brooding caverns, she found that spirit renewed. The jadebloods seemed to agree with her too. She didn’t know—or particularly care—if the compulsion to be helpful was biological or cultural, but as soon as they were able, the new jades started volunteering to help the ruddies. It might be easier, or better, to think of it as gratitude. They wanted to start a new life, and knew that life would ask a lot of them. So, they were ready to give._

_They had three days of travel until they reached the midway mark to Grizzhod. And apart from the lingering wisps of awkwardness between herself and the Mirthful, Nepeta couldn’t have imagined the crew in higher spirits. They struck up songs as they went along, continued telling stories, and even bragged about what their next exploits would be. The rebellion had cracked the caverns! What other challenges could possibly stand in their way? Even impossible ideas like a moon colony felt tangible and realistic. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect way to co-exist? The cullers would live on the boring old ground, and the ruddies would live among the cosmos?_

_She kept one ear to these shenanigans, and kept the other ear to the ground. The further they went, the more… odd things seemed to feel. The life teeming all around them had been disturbed in some way. Nests were abandoned, young left behind, and she saw predator and prey running the same direction, ignoring well-worn trails. She had only seen animals behave this strangely once, right before an earthquake._

What’s driving them now?

_She waited it out, keeping her eyes peeled for the source of the disturbance, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. And even if she could, what was she supposed to tell the ruddies to do? What could she advise if she didn’t know what was happening?_

_Rustling in the underbrush finally made her cave, and she issued a command for the party to stop. The trolls behind her ground to a halt as she stared into the woods ahead of her, waiting for an intruder, or attacker, or both._

_When the underbrush parted, a furry snout with two mouths and pure white fur. Nepeta couldn’t keep up her suspicion in the face of beloved family._

_“Pounce!” she screamed, and she bounded forward to tackle-pounce her lusus, love welling up in her heart as she felt her lusus’s tongues against her skin again. She knew Pounce didn’t understand words, so she just yowled and roared her joy to the beast, regardless of onlookers muttering amongst themselves._

_A few minutes after the reunion, Nepeta took a deep breath and managed to speak again. “Sorry, this is my lusus, Pounce! I had to leave her behind when I left my culler.”_

_“How is she here?” Sundance asked._

_“I don’t know how. There’s no real way to make her tell me.”_

_“Miracles is how,” the Mirthful added with awe in his voice._

_“Maybe she’s trying to tell us now,” the Deadbeat pointed, and Nepeta looked down. Pounce had started to scratch in the dirt, and those claw marks were looking suspiciously, then unsettlingly, like letters. When she was done, Pounce headbutted Nepeta’s stomach in a playful, affectionate way, leaving her and the other trolls to read the word scraped into the ground._

_sURRENDER_

_“The lusus wants us to surrender? Can we just tell her that we do and then take her with us?” the Deadbeat theorized. But the Chimeric stepped forward to examine the letters, and he was not laughing._

_“Change of plans,” he announced. “We need to head further south. There’s a new combatant in the fight and we need to find the most defensible location possible.”_

_“Wait, we’re fighting?”_

_“You all knew we might.”_

_“But where are the imperial soldiers? How did they weaponize a roarbeast?”_

_The Chimeric looked to Nepeta. “This is the Huntsman. He has the power to commune with animals and if he has requested our surrender, then he is also prepared to fight. We need to outrun him for as long as we can, and if we can’t outrun him, prioritize the safety of the jades, and get them to Grizzhod at all costs.”_

_“What about the lusus?”_

_“I don’t think he can command a custodian to fight her own charge, but he has surely been able to find hundreds more non-custodial beasts in the wilderness. Now, we need to move!”_

_With that order, Nepeta placed one hand on Pounce’s shoulder and urged her to walk. Now she knew what was disturbing the animals, and she almost wished she didn’t. There’d be another fight here, and if the Huntsman was using creatures—things the ruddies didn’t know how to fight, that the Empire wouldn’t care if they were slaughtered—this could be the hardest fight yet._


	70. Is This How A Slumber Party Works

The common room was nearly unrecognizable when Rose arrived. She couldn’t have been gone for more than a few hours, but Kanaya had worked with an efficiency somewhere between impressive and concerning.  _ Did vampirism give her the power to decorate in record time? _

Just about everything Rose expected to occupy the common room had been shoved to the side: tables, chairs, the sofas, and a few chests that everyone knew better than to leave things in by now. In the center, an enormous heap of pillows and cushions—some gigantic enough to be considered mattress-sized bean bags—dominated the space in a great mass of coziness. Some trays peppered the surface of the relaxing mass, loaded with finger-food snacks and bottles of beverages. To top ot all off, Kanaya had looped large triangles of fabric between the floor and fixtures in the ceiling, hiding a large proportion of the industrial piping in exchange for light pleasingly filtered through the tent pieces. The main color scheme was 'carapacian,' according to Kanaya, with bright gold and deep purples echoing the prevailing architectural colors of Prospit and Derse. 

“Apart from the lovely design logic, what inspired you to create such a space?” Rose asked.

“Since the six of us will need to be sleeping at the same time, the arrangement reminded me of the concept of a ‘slumber party’ as described in a few volumes of literature and a movie or two,” Kanaya said as she fluffed one of the pillows. “And while I’m sure we could all have fit on the couches together, I find this arrangement ultimately preferable, if decidedly alien.”

“I mean this in the most positive way possible, but this is  _ definitely _ an alien interpretation of a slumber party.”

“Damn. What should I change?”

“Not a single thread. This is incredible and I love every piece of it.”

Kanaya’s glow flickered on a little. “I love you, Rose.”

And fuck. Kanaya felt so comfortable saying that now that Rose had explained the significance of it, and every time it made Rose weak in the knees and flushed in the face. “I love you too, Kanaya.”

The spiral of mutual confessions was cut short as everyone else arrived. Rose had the feeling Dave and Karkat were dragging their feet a bit, so Vriska and Terezi had personally escorted them to the common room. Those with eyes looked upon Kanaya’s design genius and had varied reactions.

“What the  _ fuuuuuuuuck _ …” Vriska started.

“Mistress Minty, what a spectacular rainbow!”

“Kanaya, how long have you been alchemizing this shit to prepare for today?”

Kanaya looked at little sheepish at Karkat. “It was not an insignificant amount of time, but I do not think it was inordinate…”

“Dear god, this is like the ball pit at a Chuck E Cheesse, but squishier and with less spit,” Dave summarized.

“Not for long!” And Terezi dove in face-first.

“Don’t taste it too much! Or please keep your taste-testing to a localized portion of the pillows!” Kanaya advised. “This is the venue for our slumber party.”

“Kanaya, this looks like a huge pile. Like you’re inviting all of us to have some kind of pale group-jam,” Vriska explained, distaste written all over her face.

While Kanaya couldn’t mask some embarrassment of her own, she had an answer. “I know that this resembles a multi-party conciliatory venue, but I can assure you this is all in accordance with the traditions of a human slumber party.”

“Hell yes this is a slumber party,” Dave jumped to her defense. “Had these like every fucking week on Earth, mountain of pillows and everything. All the rage. Kanaya, can I give you a fist bump for how fucking inclusive you’re being? You’re including to the max.”

And so Dave and Kanaya fist-bumped while Terezi twisted around in the pile and righted herself. “Come on, Blueberry Clobberer, you said yourself, time's a-wasting. Let’s get this moving!”

Dave, Karkat, and Rose all had to make their way into the pile before Vriska caved to the peer pressure. Kanaya delicately swung her legs over the edge and settled to Rose’s right. She had Terezi to her left, then Vriska, then Dave and Karkat, in a big wheel.

“Now, would anyone be interested in cookies or small cakes? And I believe there are a multitude of games traditionally played in this kind of environment—”

“Fussyfangs, I know you’ve gone all out for some Earth traditions, but we are on a  _ mission  _ here! We need everyone to go to sleep pronto so we can rendezvous with Aradia and the other ghosts and finally crack this wide open!”

Kanaya glared at Vriska, so Rose covered Kanaya’s hand with hers. “We’ll have many other opportunities, trust me.”

As Kanaya relaxed, Vriska continued with her instructions. “Right. So, to get to sleep as quickly as possible, I plan to use my powers to get the non-God Tiers to sleep, and then the God Tiers can just… nap. We’ll use our password checks to confirm each other, and then when we’re in the bubble, we’ll start breaking down into smaller groups. Aradia claims she has the roster pinned down, but if anyone is missing we’ll have to improvise, okay?”

“Can we get this over with,” Karkat grumbled. Rose saw Dave scoot a little closer to him at that statement.

“Absolutely, Vantas! In fact, why don’t you go first????????” Vriska raised a hand to her forehead, and an instant later, Karkat’s eyes closed and he slumped back against the pillows.

“Wow, how about a little warning?!” Dave called her out.

“The courtblock finds Karkles had ample warning, and in fact, should have expected such a punishment for sassing Her Honorable Tyranny!” Terezi decreed.

“Well, the tyranny part is right,” Rose muttered to Kanaya, and her girlfriend—her girlfriend, who she loved and loved her and someone stab her through the chest please—laughed.

“Okay, Maryam, are you ready?” Vriska turned her attention to Kanaya.

“Since you’re giving me warning, I suppose I need to be.” Kanaya leaned back on the pillows and shut her eyes, and Vriska repeated her psychic gesture. She at least had the opportunity to go to sleep with more grace; Rose saw no visible sign of her change in consciousness.

“Lalonde?” 

“You make a charming Sandman, but don’t worry I can take care of myself,” Rose quipped, before she laid down and shut her eyes, but didn’t quite go to sleep. She listened to Terezi and Vriska exchange a similar “are you ready?” talk before presumably Terezi joined everyone in the dreambubbles, and then there was a small spread of silence.

Rose cracked on of her eyes open. Through her lashes, she could see Vriska still sitting up beside Terezi, looking down at her with an expression Rose didn’t usually associate with the Thief of Light. A pinch of affection, a dash of concern, a lump of pride, and smidge of happiness, like a recipe for…

_ Love _ , the Light provided.  _ She loves her. _

As soon as Rose received that knowledge, Vriska flinched and noticed Rose’s open eye. “ _ Rose!!!!!!!!” _

“My, look who’s embarrass—” Before she even finished the word, the scene around Rose changed. Gold and violet tapestries changed to smooth glass and plaster, the cushions below her leveling into the surface of a couch, and the weight of a quilt over her back. She raised her head and looked around at her old home, complete with its modern architecture and stray gin bottles and wizard paintings in enormous, gaudy frames worthy of the Louvre, not portraits of over-designed magical men.

_ The Louvre had nothing on my mom’s wizards. _

If not for the scent of liquor, Rose might have spent much longer reminiscing in her living room, but she had a job to do and didn’t want to face the temptation of drinking in a dream. Maybe it wouldn’t get her drunk, but she wasn’t about to find out. She sprinted for the door, unaccosted by the memory of her mother, and stepped out into the air. She could see half the familiar forest bleeding with a more alien, Alternian treespace. For the sake of speed, Rose skipped into the air and started to fly toward the forest, then through the branches as she looked for someone familiar. 

Dragons hanging from tree branches served as the herald that this memory belonged to Terezi Pyrope, and the treehive drawing closer confirmed it. Now to just confirm if Terezi was there…

Rose cleared her throat and raised her arms in a soliloquy pose. “Trollpunzel, Trollpunzel, let down your hair!”

Within the hive, some heavy objects sounded like they toppled over, and then Terezi’s head poked out from the window. “What the hell is a Trollpunzel?”

“She’s a young woman who lives in a tower with her hair grown out long enough to strangle intruders,” Rose answered. “I know your hair isn’t that long, but you compensate effectively with rope.”

“I’m glad you noticed—lack of hair will not deter me from my justice!” Terezi retracted her head and then re-appeared at another spot in the hive, with a designated elevator resting at the bottom. She just ignored it and slid down to the bottom of the rope, avoiding rope burns through the power of none of this being real.

“Who are you?” Terezi asked at the bottom.

“Kanaya,” Rose said. “Now, which way next?”

“You’re asking the blind girl which way to go?”

“I think it’s disingenuous of you to pretend that your lack of eyesight meaningfully impacts your ability to figure shit out.”

“I mean, my main strategy was to use my treehive as a beacon and let the nerds come to me.”

A new voice called, “Terezi?”

She grinned. “Like so,” and then turned to Dave’s voice and shouted, “Over here!”

So Dave picked his way over the roots until he joined the two. Terezi checked his identity and started up some spirited teasing while Rose took her chance to look around and see if there was any indication of what to do instead. Not in the thick woods, no, but Rose gave her brother and friend a signal that she was just going to look around a little more, before she drifted up to the treetops and looked around. This bubble had definitely crashed into a few others, introducing a weirdly-colored cliffscape and a piece of Alternian coastline to the mix, but that shouldn’t pose a problem to the exercise at hand.

And when it came to finding their companions, the aerial view helped: Rose could pick out the wine-red wings of the Maid of Time.

“This way!” Rose urged her friends, so Dave helped Terezi into the air and then the trio made their way for the beacon of Aradia Megido. As they drew closer, Rose could count individual ghosts, and saw Vriska and Kanaya in attendance along with Aradia’s small group of ghosts: a Nepeta, an Equius, and a Sollux with both eyes covered with patches, making him look particularly stupid.

“Hang on, who are you?” Vriska demanded as they arrived.

“Vriska.”

“Karkat.”

Rose directed hers to her matesprit. “Kanaya,” and she winked.

“Ooh, we’re all trading names?” Nepeta threw her hands in the air. “Equius! I’m Equius!”

“Nepeta, you are being foolish,” he told her, a few drops of sweat beading on his ghostly forehead.

“Nope, I’m being Equius!”

“Does that mean I’m Sollux?” Aradia asked, smiling. “I think I can do that! So now you have my name, okay?”

“This is stupid, I’m not playing,” Sollux answered.

“Are you just referring to the name game or are you uninterested in playing out the memory?” Kanaya asked, a little worried.

“Don’t fret your fangs off, I’m fine,” Sollux told her, sounding decidedly more moody than fine, but Rose figured that was to be expected. “We played out a few test pieces of the memory and I know I can do this.”

“So you’ve practiced being Twinhorn? What has that shown you?” Curiosity overcame Rose as she wanted to know what Sollux might have learned.

“Nothing he’s not going to show the rest of us in a few minutes,” Vriska said. “Okay, Karkat is still missing, but I can go over the battle plan without him.”

“Isn’t that kind of pointless? We have to do the battle exactly as it went in the past,” Dave said.

Vriska smiled. “Not quite, because as far as I can tell, there were no humans on Beforus. You and Rose are free agents in this memory, so you don’t have to stay in the groove. You’re free to float around and pick up details that the rest of us miss while we’re in the moment.”

“Hooray for team free-floater,” Dave said.

“Knowing you, you also have an opinion about where Dave and I should begin our additional surveillance?” Rose added, intending it as a subtle jab. Vriska seemed to miss it, but she saw Kanaya smile, and that’s what mattered.

“I do. I think Dave should stay here with the fight, since everything is about to hit the whirling device and a second set of gander bulbs will be a big help. Then Rose should go with Kanaya and Equius to help set up the second location.”

“There’s a second location?” Aradia asked.

“Yes. After the Chimeric gets hit, the First Guardian transportalizes him away, and we know the destination is Trueshot’s hive, also housing the Benevole. Rose’s Light can help us reconstruct the hive, so when the monster zaps Karkat to their vicinity, everything should be ready.”

“I think I can manage that,” Rose said, conflicted about the joy of staying with Kanaya, but the fact they wouldn't be alone, and their observer would be Equius. Or maybe she could think of it the other way around and engineer a bright side for herself: she was being sent with Equius, but at least Kanaya would be there.

“What about the rest of us,” Sollux said.

“We know Aradia and Tavros were staying close together. Nepeta, you were in Karkat’s army, so we think you’re going to be in the circle of trolls, once we make that happen. And Sollux, you probably know more about where you’re supposed to be, since you lived through a few test memories.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“I had forgotten how moody you could get, Appleberry,” Terezi told him.

“I just want to get this over with. Is KK coming or not?”

“He better be coming, or I’m going to kick his mutant ass,” Vriska growled.

“Just give him a minute,” Dave insisted. “He’ll figure out how to get here. I mean, the rest of us did.”

“Okay, fine, but if he can’t get his shit together in the next five minutes, we’re going without him.”

Everyone seemed to accept this, though Rose could see some nervous displeasure from her dear ectobrother, which made sense given Dave’s rather specific interest in Karkat. It made her regret her past intrusions into his psyche a bit, simply because she now wished to ‘play that card’ and evaluate his feelings on the concept of bisexuality as it applied to him. It left her feeling like she had wasted her shot.

Nepeta and Equius stayed close, talking to each other in low voices, and Terezi’s banter with Dave from the forest resumed as Vriska talked to Aradia about some probably-discussed feature of the final fight that she wished to more effectively micromanage. Sollux seemed content to wander away a bit and ‘stare’ into space.

“You know what I’m just now realizing,” Kanaya said to Rose.

“What might that be?”

“I don’t know how the Benevole’s story ends. Porrim never shared that about the Benevole, and now feels a bit too late to ask, if she even knows. Maybe I was just so focused on the way we had collectively assumed the Chimeric’s rebellion is the end of relevant history on Beforus. It didn’t occur to me until just now that… some of us walk away from this. Not the Chimeric or the Huntsman, but some of us will face the aftermath.”

“I promise, if the Benevole’s story continues after this, I would be happy to find the end of it with you,” Rose told her matesprit, and Kanaya smiled again, grateful and pleased.

Then, Nepeta shouted, “There he is!”

Everyone who could see turned to look at the gray shape with the nubby horns trudging his way toward the party. Immediately, Rose could see that Karkat had already dipped his toes in the memory: he had a set of leather pauldrons on his shoulders, rested atop his puffy gray Alternian sweater.

“Karkat, what the hell are you wearing?” Vriska asked him, giggling through her words.

“Excuse  _ me _ for making an attempt to get into fucking character! You’re the ones who wanted me here anyway to serve as your sacrificial bleatbeast upon the altar of curiosity! Maybe I should ask what the fuck  _ you’re _ wearing, ‘Marquise,’ if you’re not taking this seriously!”

“Okay, okay, we don’t have time to yell at Vriska!” Dave stepped closer to Karkat and asked, “Who are you?”

“Dave,” he answered, prompting Nepeta to declare again that she was Equius, but the stupidity did not ripple further. Instead, something else rippled in Rose, like a sour note in a song, but she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Nice! Great! Now Vriska told everyone their battle positions, right? So we’re going to those now?”

“I suppose it’s time,” Kanaya said, slipping her fingers through Rose’s to hold her hand. 

Equius shifted a little closer, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I must warn you… about my  _ strength _ …”

“I think we can manage,” Rose fought to keep her tone even, and they eventually settled on having Rose take Equius’ wrist so he wouldn’t grip Rose and harm her. And then, they all took off together, Rose and her two trollish passengers.

She didn’t fly for very long, just far enough to be sure that if she started to invoke some kind of other memory, the clearing where the battle took place would be undisturbed. She let go of Equius—how could a  _ wrist _ sweat so much—and wiped her hand on her skirt as she kept her touch with Kanaya.

“Aradia mentioned you and the others had attempted to find ancestral memories as well?” Kanaya prompted.

“We did. They were… perplexing. But in a way sensible.”

“Do tell,” Rose said, figuring such a testimony would be helpful for her proposed task.

“To be a Guardian feels like the closest Beforan equivalent to my aspirations to take my place among the highbloods of Alternia. All urges toward violence were schooled out of Beforan trolls since hatching and directed constructively toward the protection of others.” His voice faltered a little. “I am unsure if it is a… sign of weakness… that I would apply my  _ strength  _ toward the most highly esteemed position the social order provided for me, no matter what duties that position entailed.”

“I don’t think it’s weakness,” Kanaya said. “It feels like a desire to do something of value with your life. I feel very similar when I consider the task of reviving the species, somehow. I know it is expected of me, and I want to meet that expectation.”

“I… never knew that about you, Maryam,” Equius answered.

“We never spoke much.”

“Does this also mean you have experienced… feelings… of doubt with regard to your position?”

“Doubt? No, never doubt. I’ve felt like a failure sometimes and I think I will until we are able to recover a matriorb.”

Rose could feel those words ring in her head like a church bell.  _ Doubt. Failure. _ They were terrible words emotionally speaking, but they  _ meant _ something here. Rose squeezed Kanaya’s hand and stepped away from her, feeling out where those words took her.

_ Doubt should be downstairs… Failure, upstairs… _

“Do you know how you will accomplish that?”

“No and I kind of don’t want to talk about that now. We’re supposed to be thinking about Beforus, and possibly our roles as adults?”

“Right, thank you for the correction… I know I have only found a few memories, but my understanding of the Guardian Trueshot is… his exterior is more precious to him than anything.”

“You mean he prizes his body?” Rose snarked, well aware that’s not what he meant but hoping her jab would help him elaborate.

“No, that’s not right. What I mean is, acting as a Guardian, culling—in the Beforan sense—setting an example for others… was one hundred percent of his identity. All other interests in fine art and hoofbeast husbandry and architecture existed only to support his persona. He had… nothing else.”

_ The fortress is a shell. _ Rose realized, and the memory started to become clear to her. A manor constructed in a traditional style Rose had never seen but intimately understood, relics of craftsmanship everywhere, and absolutely no stray possessions anywhere. The ceiling, walls, floors, windows, doors, stairs, all carried and undercurrent of unyielding power in their stone and wood and glass—but the space contained within them was dead and empty, like a Pharaoh’s tomb barely minutes after the royal corpse had been laid to rest and the door sealed.

“Kanaya, dear, I believe your starting position for this memory is upstairs… and I can already tell the Benevole’s feelings up there are intense and painful, so please forgive me and know I love you.”

Kanaya smiled nervously, but then gave Rose a kiss and moved toward the stairs. On the back of her head, her hair started to lengthen and twist, pinned in a functional bun. Then Rose turned to Equius, and already, his grimacing expression had changed. Specifically, the teeth he lost from his routine battles with robots of his own creation were no longer missing.

“Guardian Trueshot, please resume your duties, and do your best to forget I was ever here,” Rose addressed him. “Guests will be arriving soon.”


	71. Cacophony

Nepeta watched Equius fly away with Rose and Kanaya, and shortly after that, everyone else with ‘designated starting points’ moved to find them: Vriska and Terezi to a steep lookout, Aradia and Sollux deeper into the forest, leaving her alone with Dave and _Karkat_. Sure, Karkat-ghosts were plentiful in the bubbles, but Nepeta liked meeting each and every one of them.

“You ready to do your thing?” Dave asked him.

Karkat scoffed at him. “Clearly—but we have to put on a show for them, don’t we? We should move back an hour or so.”

“It’ll take an _hour_?”

“It won’t, but about an hour before the time in question, we were in motion.”

Nepeta blinked at Karkat as his words started to sound… less like himself. And more like someone old, someone who had their claws buried deep in the scratching post of history. And as he waved for Nepeta and Dave to start walking with him, Nepeta saw the sign on his shirt fade into more grayness, like a wet spot drying out of fabric.

She couldn’t do much else but follow, Dave at her side and Karkat in the front. Staring at the back of Karkat’s head, Nepeta watched more changes appear on the back of his shirt: it grew a bit longer, and considerably thinner, and then gained colors: splashes of the rainbow, yellow and deep red and indigo and olive green—blood castes. Even with a history of seeing so much blood on her hunts, Nepeta knew this was troll blood, and she had never wanted to see Karkat stained with it. But, this was the point of the exercise. She just gritted her teeth and remembered that the fierce and loyal Tameless didn’t care about his shirt, so she shouldn’t either.

And as Karkat’s appearance changed, the features around them did, too. Nepeta could see more shapes around them, shadows of tall, proud trolls, moving in a herd together. They took clearer shape whenever Nepeta tried to look at one and name them, but even if she couldn’t find the name, she still felt she knew them. They were allies, friends, pridemates. She would kill for each and every one of them.

Then, it started to look like that feeling would be put to the test. The pride of shadows stretched and lengthened, and at the edges Nepeta could see the faces of enormous beasts, predators and goliaths blocking any alternate paths. She recognized a large number that she had successfully hunted in the past, but not with allies so close. If she jumped on any single animal, its companions would attack her back, and she’d definitely die. Best keep moving… and move faster.

She drew close to the Chimeric—red and familiar, complete with blazing mutant eyes—at the front of the pack. “What now?” she asked him, quickly.

“We need an audience with their commander. It seems like he’s leading us anyway, so that must be soon.”

“And if it’s not?”

The Chimeric tilted his head, like a small shrug. “I know it is. You could call this the final errand.”

Nepeta wanted to ask what he meant by that, but she actually knew. She could sense more than remember conversations with him about perplexing tasks he had to complete alongside their actual revolution. _Eerie._

The path did eventually spread out into a clearing—the same clearing where they had started, but the Tameless didn’t know that. She had never seen this specific clearing before, and even she could see that the edges teemed with lethal beasts, prepared to kill but currently restrained.

An echo of a memory said something like “a trap!” but the Chimeric raised his hand. “We can weather this! Jades to the center, then form a ring around!”

At his orders, the shadows obeyed, and Nepeta moved with them. She could see the small pack of jadebloods, each of them keeping physical contact with each other in some way: hands on elbows, shoulders, backs, hips, and other hands. Then around that core, several tight rings of soldiers surrounded them. When Nepeta found the Chimeric again, there was a new shadow with him, huge and broad with one tall, twisty horn.

_Gamzee?!_

Nepeta’s head started to spin with the conflicting messages. He killed her. He kissed her. He harmed her. He helped her. Evil. Ally. Monster. Friend. Whatever she had found for the Tameless to feel, Nepeta’s history with him destroyed it, and she backed away from him until she bumped a furry presence at her back. When she looked, she recognized the face of her lusus Pounce, and hugged her tightly.

“I need to go talk to him,” the Chimeric said, addressing Nepeta but mostly the Gamzee-shadow. “I need both of you to trust me; I won’t meet my end here.”

“…Okay?” Nepeta said, knowing the Tameless had given some kind of affirmative but losing the exact words.

The Gamzee-shadow took the Chimeric's hand, leaned in for their foreheads to touch, before he nodded and let him go. The Chimeric slid through the ring of trolls and left their defensive circle, moving forward with slow, measured steps.

 

* * *

 

Dave watched the Chimeric leave the protective little bubble. He almost felt pins and needles in his floating-off-the-ground toes, like just waiting for this to happen was making him antsy. But they had this under control, and besides, he didn’t even belong to this memory. No Troll Dave here. Just a regular Dave, floating and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The Chimeric put distance between himself and the ring of trolls, hands raised the whole way, until a troll sitting aside a horse broke from the ranks of animals. He moved strangely, the way Dave assumed a centaur would: the hoofs of his lower half obeying the commands of his brain as easily as his arms did. And those arms were holding a crossbow. Dave peered close at the quiver of bolts on his back and could see blue feathers on the ends. Trolls cared a lot about things being the right colors, so Dave guessed the crossbow and bolts were stolen in the first place.

The two stood and stared at each other for a long, tense moment, before the Chimeric spoke. “Huntsman, it’s been… some sweeps, hasn’t it? Five, it must be.”

“Yeah,” the Huntsman scoffed. “Guess so.”

“Been keeping busy?”

“Not as busy as you.”

“I am definitely guilty of being… busy.”

“And murderous.”

“That was necessary.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Maybe it doesn’t look that way, but my sources confirmed I had to—”

“Shut up.”

The Huntsman said it quietly, tiredly. But the Chimeric bristled. “Excuse me?”  
  
“I mean, it was always going to happen the way you saw. You’re you, after all.” The Huntsman held the crossbow steady on his shoulder, pointing directly for the Chimeric. “And all the things you did wrong, matter as much as the things you did right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The chimera couldn’t show you the full picture. You’re the one who chose, to answer its prophecies with murder.”

Dave saw a slow, horrible surprise in the Chimeric’s face. “Then… if you and the chimera have communed, we should be allies. Maybe if we could set our weapons aside, dissolve the army of beasts, find common ground…?”  
  
“There’s no point in that.”  
  
“I disagree! Your statement is rather tantalizing and I think it would be more productively discussed in a place where we could both put our arms down.”

“I mean, I did ask you to surrender. Are you interested in that?”  
  
“No, I am afraid not.”

“Shame,” the Huntsman said. “Or maybe, not really. It was always going to go this way.”  
  
“We’re in agreement, but it doesn’t have to end here.”  
  
“You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?”  
  
The Chimeric finally started to look angry. “Vague and cryptic is not a good approach for you to take, Huntsman.”  
  
“You knew it was going to end, and you thought you even knew how. And after so many dead, I want you to know, three more innocent people are going to die, before this is over. Good people who never had any part in this. And the people who _are_ part of it, you need to know that you’ve ruined their lives. It’s all your fault.” The Huntsman adjusted the crossbow, but didn’t lower it. “And one of the reasons, I even agreed to make you pay, was to see your face when I told you. You never saved anyone. You were never going to save anyone.”

Dave watched those words sink into the Chimeric, his expression melting like wax. His confidence gave way to a chilly fear, the face of a man realizing the depths to which he had _fucked up._

 

* * *

 

Vriska had only brushed this memory before, really. Aradia had brought them straight to the meat of the action and didn’t leave her time to get acquainted with the scene. But now that she was standing here with Terezi at her side, looking down at the impending battle below, the reality of it seeped deeper into her. Maybe the memory wasn’t real, but the fight—for Prospera—had been too real. She surreptitiously pressed her hand to her forehead to steady herself. Prospera had felt completely out of control, something Vriska had never wanted to experience ever again.

Still, as the scene below unfolded, Vriska had a feeling it was her line. She searched the clearing for whatever she would most feel compelled to comment on, and she let the words come forth, uncanny but familiar: “It’s the _Huntsman._ ”

“Your old cullee?” Terezi asked, an old conversation starting to flow between them.

“No one else could raise beasts against the Chimeric like this!”

“But how did this even happen?”

“Why are you worried about the ‘how?’”

“He’s been missing for sweeps. Institutionalized culling wrote him off as dead. Why is he here?”

“Perhaps the Compasse recruited him to avoid further loss of life.”

“Then who authorized putting him on the front lines?” Lawscale—well, Terezi, but also Lawscale—countered, with an understanding clear in Vriska’s head that such an order would have passed by their faces first. That was their purpose, advising methods of fighting the Chimeric. “The Compasse would never use such a tactic, not even against the Chimeric.”

“We don’t truly know what she will or won’t do anymore,” Vriska reminded her. It felt like the dread was gripping tighter on her heart as she tried to think of what could be done about this. The idea that hundreds could die if this tension snapped repulsed her, deeper than Vriska felt it should. _Is it because I was a Beforan?_

But that train of thought could not continue without interruption. “It’s back,” Lawscale said, pointing toward something below, and Vriska looked. Her moirail’s (no, Lawscale had refused her, and it still hurt, it _ached—_ ) finger was a few inches off, but Vriska could see it: the flickering, white-and-neon shape of the draconic roarbeast, stitched together in the middle.

That cursed beast that had inspired the Chimeric in the first place.

And maybe, an opportunity to make this end peacefully.

 

* * *

 

Aradia could barely see through the trees and beasts. The plan was for her to stay back, as an emergency reserve, but she couldn’t tell if the Huntsman needed her this far back! She crept closer, sliding between some of the smaller animals, and then catching a tree branch to pull herself higher. That improved the view somewhat, even if she couldn’t hear. 

The Chimeric and Huntsman were out in the open field, facing each other and talking about something. So now it was Aradia’s turn to fire the bolt? No, that was too much of a Maid of Time thought, she needed to be the Lodestar! She tried to put her knowledge of how this ended out of her mind, pretend for a moment that she only saw time as a line instead of an endlessly twisted cycle of loops and spirals. She had her matesprit and her enemy standing face-to-face, and every second that passed increased the risk that the Huntsman wouldn’t return.

The more Aradia focused on that feeling, the more jittery and intense it became. Why was this taking so long? They were here to finish the job! And why was the Huntsman spending so much time talking with him? Words were the Chimeric’s weapons of choice, her love would lose that duel, but a _crossbow_ had an argument of its own that even a corrupted Guardian would have to acknowledge. They needed to end the rebellion here and it would not be ended through a pleasant chat!

She felt something unfamiliar buzz against her leg, rhythmic and strange. Placing her hand over it, she felt the contours of a palmhusk, and one of the memories came back to her. Right, Sollux was providing support, and had upgraded a messaging device she owned to receive signals from more than one person. She could send and receive messages with Kanaya—but why her?—and now with Twinhorn, too.

Palmhusk in hand, she checked the message.

>> ruddiie2 moviing?

Aradia looked through her gap in the trees again. The Chimeric and Huntsman hadn’t moved, still caught in their confrontation. This standoff couldn’t last much longer, not without the danger to her matesprit growing too large! It was time to end this.

And it was up to her.

She reached out an arm, felt white light surrounder her palm, and she pushed it forward, against the back of the Huntsman’s bolt. Then she snapped.

 

* * *

 

The bolt fired and hit the Chimeric. Dave watched him seize and crumple, the fight drained out of him as he realized the mistake. The Huntsman also seemed surprised, the crossbow falling from his hands. And as weapon and troll fell, Dave couldn’t look at either for much longer, because an anguished shout rose from the circle of rebels. A figure shoved its way out into the open, huge and purple with only one horn. He crossed the field almost before the Chimeric hit the ground, gathering him into his arms and pressing his hand close to the wound, like he was trying to stop the bleeding. 

Some part of Dave wanted to get close, push the metaphorical camera of his eyes right into the moment, close enough to see their expressions and hear the words. That was his mission after all, wasn’t it? But the rest of him couldn’t stand the idea, knowing where this all led. And even at a distance, he could see what this moment was, all and all: the Chimeric, shocked and hurt, struggling to reassure a moirail, while that moirail tried to keep him alive.

 

* * *

 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, this was too soon, Vriska didn’t have a plan, but she had no more time! The Chimeric was shot and they were going to lose their chance to arrest him and make him _answer_ for something!

So Vriska raised her hands to her forehead and _pushed_.

She made contact with the Huntsman’s mind easily, something hollow and insubstantial about the connection, like the memory failed to properly preserve what the Huntsman was thinking. Vriska knew she had more power than this, but Prospera didn’t, so she had no choice but to force her way inside and more-or-less shake his think pan for pieces of information that she needed.

At the speed of thought, a few ideas revealed themselves: the chimera. The horse. The signal. The manor hive. The Benevole. With even greater effort, Vriska twisted her own mind further to take command of the Huntsman’s communion skill and then reach a request out to the chimera.

_Send him to her!_

The chimera’s brain did not bend to her will, but simply agreed to it. And in an instant, Vriska knew it had been done. The Chimeric was no longer in the field. She pulled back from the intense, insane consciousness of the chimera and directed her next order to the Huntsman.

_Now release from the saddle—send the hoofbeast to us!_

 

* * *

 

This was not an easy memory to access. Kanaya felt the weight and pain of it, and when Rose joined her, she broke down in tears. She knew her matesprit wanted to comfort her, but it was quickly apparent that they weren’t truly Kanaya’s tears, they were the Benevole’s. 

It didn’t make them any easier to cry.

She was kneeling in front of a door, pounding futilely on the wood. Her suffering hadn’t provoked a change of mind in her oh-so-generous host, but she had no other option but to try. The window had no mechanism to open and she couldn’t break it, so she just needed the door to break down and then… do something else.

A flash of light and pressure behind her made her turn, startled first and then horrified. A man in a blood-splattered shirt lay on the floor of her respiteblock, a crossbow bolt stuck in his abdomen. He moaned in pain, clearly dying, and it took Kanaya a minute to process who this was.

“Chimeric!?” She crawled away from the door to his side, assessing the damage, the memory supplying her with knowledge of organs damaged and treatment options. But then she she shook her head, remembering why she was crying in the first place, and gripped the collar of his shirt, raising him off the ground.

“Answer me,” Kanaya told him. “And if you want me to help you live, it better be a good answer! What did you do?!”

The Chimeric spluttered and gasped, that bolt had to be in a lung but Kanaya could not find the capacity to give a shit, not until she had her satisfaction. 

“R… Ruse,” he choked. “Calci… cabonat… she’s fine… indi—indigestion…”

 “It’s just indigestion!? We would never report indigestion as a global crisis!” 

His hand raised and gripped Kanaya’s. “Ruse!” he repeated. “T-Trick! I… the signal… tampered…”

She finally relaxed, pieces fitting together and relief in their wake. He never hurt her. He only wanted the world to think he did, so he could orchestrate a cavebreak. And while that was irresponsible and traitorous, it wasn’t heinous.

_She’s fine…_

Kanaya lowered him, then slid her arms under his knees and shoulders, moving him up from the floor to a multi-cushioned relaxation bench. She did still have vows as a mediculler to uphold, offering cure and aid to anyone who needed it, and if she healed the Chimeric, then he could properly stand trial for all he had done these last three sweeps.

But when she had him laid out, Kanaya noticed the bolt again, fletched with rich, blue feathers. She had seen a number of weapons on display like that, and she knew that a certain pair of trolls had stolen a crossbow before making their way into the wild. Kanaya wanted to ask a question, and realized she had the means to. In a drawer, she found a simple messenger, able to send and receive short messages to a single recipient. 

>> Chimeric At Hive  
>> Shot By Blue Arrow  
>> Is It Your Arrow  
>> Where Are You  
 

* * *

 

Nepeta couldn’t see what happened, but the Mirthful’s shadow ripped away from the group. Pulled along in his wake, Nepeta stood outside the ring and stared at his back, realizing that something terrible had happened. Over his shoulders, she could see the Huntsman pull on some straps near his legs, falling to the ground as his hoofbeast ran away. Was he hurt, too? Where was she supposed to go, to the Chimeric or to the Huntsman?

Either way, she couldn’t stand staying back and being useless. She curled her hands into fists and started to run away from the circle. An unfamiliar voice shouted orders to go the other direction, but stay close. She remembered liking that order, it meant everyone else should escape, and she’d take responsibility for the injured.

And then she heard the Mirthful roar.

 

* * *

 

Dave already reflexively had his hands over his ears, knowing what would happen and hoping to fuck this would help. If he got deafened in a memory bubble, he’d blame everyone for the rest of their lives and demand outrageous disability accommodations out of spite. He felt the power of the roar in his fucking bones, but it left his ears alone, though he could see the Tameless behind the Mirthful, now reeling. Easily the closest person to his mournful shout, she might not be okay.

He couldn’t dwell on that. The Mirthful was on the move, and Dave noticed a new detail he hadn’t caught at a distance. There was blood on his hands, the Chimeric’s blood from the crossbow wound, and he had dragged his fingers down his own face in three long, familiar lines.

Then he took up running again, leaving the spot where the Chimeric had fallen and rushing at the Huntsman, sitting prone on the ground. Dave saw the bronzeblood look up at the aggressor, and a neutral, almost unsettling expression appeared on his face. He closed his eyes and sat still and passive in the face of the Mirthful’s rage. 

And then Dave looked away. He had already seen the next part and didn’t want to see it again.

 

* * *

 

Aradia screamed, the sound lost in the cacophony of the animals now separated from her matesprit’s influence. Some animals sprinted away from the trolls, others toward, while furious and frightened tears fell from Aradia’s eyes. This was her fault, she had wanted to save him but she had killed him, he was dead, she needed to make him pay, but how could she?! Psionics, tactics, _reason_ all flew from her mind as she watched the monster now beating the already lifeless corpse of the Huntsman. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t, she couldn’t… 

She turned and ran instead, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the terrible source of her fear when she noticed her pocket buzzing. That same messenger… Now with hands shaking, Aradia pulled it into her hands and saw sparse lines of text written in the Benevole’s quirk. Blue bolt? Hers? And the Chimeric… so when he vanished, he was transportalized to the Benevole? 

Somehow, the Lodestar knew where that was. Even if she couldn’t kill the Mirthful, she could still have revenge for what he had taken from her.

She steadied her hands enough to type a reply. 

>> im c0ming up

 

* * *

 

Everything was happening too fast, faster than Terezi could smell. A standoff turned into a shitshow and now hundreds of animals dueled with just as many rebels, the screams of trolls and beasts filling the clearing as everyone struggled to escape. Terezi tried to look to Prospera for orders, advice, anything, surely her vision eightfold could see a way out of this mess, but found she was just standing there. Terezi almost wanted to shake her, scream at her, admit something terrible like ‘I’m scared.’

Thundering hooves approached, and Terezi could smell the chestnut-and-sweat body of a hoofbeast barreling toward them. Prospera finally lowered her hands and braced to jump up on the hoofbeast as soon as it slowed. In a strong, fluid movement, she made the jump, and lowered a hand for Terezi to join her. The last time they had done she had hesitated, but this time Terezi didn’t even think. She took it and gripped tight to Prospera as she shouted an order.

" _Last grief!_ ”

The hoofbeast neighed and took off again, this time in a new direction. Terezi clung to Prospera’s back but managed to ask, “What are we doing?!”

“The magic monster has sent the Chimeric to the Benevole—Oberion knows the way! She can stabilize him and then we’ll make the arrest!”

Terezi nodded and pressed her face against Vriska’s back, the gallop of the hoofbeast preventing true conversation. She just had to hold on and have faith. As they rode, the opportunity to think came back to her, and she realized something: _we aren’t moirails._ There had been a moment, weeks before this living hell, when they had piled and shared pale secrets with each other, but Lawscale and Prospera weren’t actually moirails. Terezi could feel whisps of a conversation, saying that they weren’t suited for each other and claiming this platonic intimacy was just mischaracterized friendship.

_How could I—how could she lie to her like that?_

As Terezi tried to puzzle out why Lawscale would try and hide her feelings, she felt Prospera’s intake of breath, and heard her curse. Terezi lifted her head and sniffed at the night sky, smelling the dark purple sky, the twinkling stars, and a blazing meteorite. With a second sniff, she could tell that meteor was a troll, surrounded in psionic light and flying at top speed.

“She’s headed the same direction!” Terezi shouted. “Faster than us!”

“Come on!!!!!!!!” Prospera screamed. “ _Heeya, you stupid mount!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Nepeta clutched her head and blinked, over and over, struggling to focus. Her head pounded, blood rushing through her face and to her ears. She touched one, flinching at the wet fluid dripping from them. And the world had gone quiet, so quiet, like a moving painting. She tried to shake her head further and realized, if she wanted, she could bring sound back, but that wasn’t the plan. Nepeta could recover her hearing if she wanted; the Tameless couldn’t. She needed to stay Tameless.

 She could feel that fuzzy presence again, pacing around her body and keeping her insulated against the chaos. She could see the Mirthful, unfazed by the animal madness, continuing to swing his already mahogany-stained clubs on a corpse that didn’t even resemble a body anymore. She could see dozens of trolls, friends and comrades, running for safety with no idea where safety lay. And if she looked down, she could see Pounce, lapping at her hand with two tongues to clean her own blood off of it. With Nepeta so close to her lusus, the animals didn’t seem to notice her.

And then Nepeta looked up, seeing a comet in the sky, white light streaking away from the fight. Not entirely sure why, but trusting her instincts, Nepeta crawled onto Pounce’s back and pointed to the star, kicking the roarbeast’s haunches, encouraging her to run. It had been sweeps since they had ridden like this, but Nepeta needed to rely on her mighty lusus once more. She had to find answers.

 

* * *

 

>> ign0re ruddies  
>> g0 t0 truesh0t  
>> chimeric there 

Sollux kind of knew this plan would fail, no matter how badly he wanted it to succeed. He just felt it in his soul, like a premonition. The Lodestar’s message just confirmed it.

No time to think. He surrounded his body with psionics and flew. At this rate, he would arrive after her, but hopefully that would still be in time.

 

* * *

 

So everyone was gone, except for murder clown who didn’t seem to realize his murder was done.

Dave should probably get gone, too.


	72. Coda

Rose saw the ball of light first, like a thunderstorm drawing closer, and knew it was Aradia. She had little insight about how she had come this way, but the why made sense. Someone she loved was dead and there was someone here who could answer for it.

She knew what that felt like.

Taking to the air again, Rose floated off of the roof and down closer to the manor hive’s porch. Equius stood there, laced up in the couture of a blueblooded Guardian of Beforus, eyes trained on the sky as well. As the shooting star drew closer, Rose could actually see the troll contained inside. Her flight wavered as she reached the ground before she fell out of the air completely, landing hard on the grass and panting. Burgundy blood dripped to the grass from her nose.

Trueshot ran to her without hesitation, and Rose followed close enough to hear him. "You’re hurt! How did this happen? Where is the Huntsman?”

“He—He’s dead,” the Lodestar panted through her tears. “Dead… ruddies—!”

He choked on any kind of exclamation, but managed to say something reasonable. “I can protect you. Don’t worry.”

But the Lodestar dragged herself to her feet, using Trueshot half as a ladder before lunging for the hive. Rose saw fanaticism in her bloodshot eyes.

“Please, calm yourself! You need rest!”

“No… the Chimeric is here… he needs to die for what he did!”

Trueshot reached for the Lodestar, but she swatted his hand away with a forceful push of psychic energy.

“This is foolish! Lodestar, I order you to stop!

But she persisted. Rose watched him follow.

 

* * *

 

To Equius, embodying an alternate ancestor felt like all of the common points in his mind had new logic associated with them, like components on a circuit board attached in a different pattern. As he saw the Lodestar running for his hive, he knew the Alternian custom would be to cull any troll who showed him such defiance, but the memories of his Beforan self said otherwise. She needed help. He had sworn an oath to help.

Her stride grew faster as she found strength in her legs, and each time he tried to reach her, she pushed his body away. What would incapacitate her, someone so determined to do harm she didn’t seem to care if she hurt herself in the process? And what if she hurt the Benevole, someone else Equius had promised to protect?

It was a last resort, but both he and the Lodestar had found the ends of their ropes. He stepped inside the hive and immediately moved to a wall, picking the nearest bow and quiver and notching a single arrow. There were a multitude of places where he could strike the burgundyblood and do non-lethal damage, and true to his name, Equius trusted his perfect aim. 

“I will warn you one final time, Lodestar, cease at once!” Equius commanded. But she was already up the stairs, running for the Benevole’s respiteblock.

_ She is a threat to herself and others in the hive. _

So Equius fired.

 

* * *

 

Aradia’s head was splitting, but when she heard the bowstring release, she raised her arms and caught the arrow in a psionic field, millimeters away from her thigh. So he wanted to cripple her?! That was his idea of culling?! And if he stood between her and the Chimeric, he was her enemy!

Her powers took hold of the arrow and twisted it around so the point faced back at Trueshot. He was already drawing a second arrow to fire, so Aradia had to move faster. She raised her hand and flicked her fingers, casting the projectile back his way. She didn’t truly need to aim, just think.

The arrowhead pierced his eye. With a clench of her hand, she drove deeper, cutting through brain matter until it jutted out the back of his head. The second shot loosed randomly as knees buckled, and he fell, and Aradia stood at the top of the stairs, watching him die. Then she sat at the top of the stairs, pain crushing any chance she had to feel horror over the life she had just taken.

And she needed to kill again.

After a few minutes, she felt strong enough to proceed, taking shaky steps down the hall and toward the Benevole’s block, which had to be the one with an enormous bust of a horse in front of it. Summoning up another psionic push, Aradia forced it aside, and then opened the door.

 

* * *

 

Kanaya had the Chimeric’s midsection reasonably bandaged, and was trying to find something, either heat or chemical, that could help her sterilize her sewing needles, when the grating sound of stone on wood at her door made her pause. Was Trueshot letting her out? Now of all times? Maybe he could assist her in the surgery and bring her real tools—

But Trueshot wasn’t there. The Lodestar stood in the doorway instead, hair wild and breathing haggard, blood dripping from her nose.

“What in the world…” Kanaya started, but the Lodestar looked down at the Chimeric, still lying conscious with his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

“He has to die,” the Lodestar said. “His monster killed the Huntsman—so now he has to die!”

“Lodestar, wait! This isn’t right!” She tried to stand between her and the Chimeric. “Trueshot! Trueshot, help!”

“He’s already dead! Don’t make me kill you too!” 

The Lodestar pushed at Kanaya with her psionics, but the power was weaker already, not enough to put real distance between them. She seemed to realize this, and grabbed the nearest sharp object she could find—Kanaya’s scissors, left out when she had raided her sewing kit for medical items.

“I know you’re upset, but you can’t do this—he has to answer for what he’s done!” Kanaya argued.

“He answers to me!” the Lodestar screamed, lunging toward her. Kanaya went for her hands, trying to pull the blades away. Kanaya was stronger, but the Lodestar was quicker, and she didn’t know how she would win this fight without any kind of help. She half-hoped the Chimeric would find the will to stand and fight for her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him trying to sit up, but the wound in his abdomen hobbled him.

With a scream of effort, Kanaya successfully pinched the Lodestar’s wrist and forced her to release the scissors. They fell, but then gravity lost effect, and they spun around instead. Kanaya didn’t have time to recognize what was about to happen before they plunged into her stomach.

 

* * *

 

_ Two. _ Aradia had killed two innocents on her path of vengeance. But what else could she have done? She watched the Benevole slump and hit the floor, scissors buried in her torso, light leaving her eyes. She just had to get this over with. At least now there was no one in the way.

She reached down and pulled the scissors out of the Benevole’s body, then looked to the Chimeric. He had managed to sit up, breathing heavily, with his exhausted, fire-red eyes glaring at Aradia.

“This is for the Huntsman,” she told him, but he held up a hand.

“I know,” he gasped. “I know… my bag… take my bag.”

What the fuck? Was this how he begged for his life?! Aradia reached out and grabbed a fistful of his hair, right between his horns. “Are you fucking with me!?”

“I don’t care what you do—but my bag! You have to take my bag!” He weakly kicked, and his foot connected with a leather backpack on the floor.

The puzzlement and curiosity tried to fight against her fury, but she wouldn’t let it win. If those were his last words, so be it. Aradia just focused on pulling back her arm and plunging the scissors into his chest over and over until she physically did not have the strength to swing the blades anymore. She dropped her fistful of his hair, and he fell, dead.

While she stood over her third corpse, struggling again to catch her breath, her eyes drifted to the bag the Chimeric had insisted she take. Should she really listen to the man responsible for so much war and suffering?

_ But what was inside? _

 

* * *

 

The blurry star had overtaken their hoofbeast miles back, but they had to keep going. Terezi pulled herself away from Prospera’s back and shifted into a more active position. The life of her intended prey could be hanging in the balance. Oberion huffed and snorted and started to slow down, but the way was clear enough now, so Terezi slid off and started to run, Prospera only moments behind her.

The hive door was open when they arrived, already a terrible omen. When Terezi crossed the threshold, she smelled vivid indigo and an unmoving body lying on the ground.  _ Trueshot. _ She stooped to touch his wrist, just to see if there was still a pulse in his veins. His skin felt colder than his blood could explain.

“We’re too late,” Terezi reported.

“We can’t be,” Prospera answered, some hysteria in her voice. She turned to the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and Terezi followed, hoping her own analysis was wrong. But if the Guardian of the hive was dead, the chance there would be any survivors was slim.

Another door was open upstairs, with a marble statue lying to the side. Inside, Terezi could smell even more blood, green and cherry, and a woman standing in the middle of it, dripping scissors in hand as she stared at the inside of a bag. 

“Stop!” Terezi shouted to the Lodestar. “Murderer!  _ Assassin _ !”

The Lodestar looked up, eyes wild and fearful, before she flung the bag as hard as she could at the window. Glass shattered and rained onto the floor, and Terezi raised her arms to shield her face, not sure if the Lodestar was going to spray the shards at her as a weapon, but nothing happened. She just dove out the window to make her escape.

“Prospera, let’s move!” Terezi ordered, but Prospera wasn’t moving. She had fallen to her knees by the side of the Benevole’s corpse, weeping and mumbling. Terezi didn’t have time to make her give chase.

So she jumped out the window herself.

 

* * *

 

Rose was hyperventilating. Just a little bit. Hands pressed to her mouth, she struggled to command her breathing, in-out, in-out, but it was so hard. She knew Kanaya would be fine, but there she was, bleeding, dying, she was  _ fine  _ but she was  _ dying, _ everyone was acting like she was dying, and the Chimeric too, murdered, she just… she didn’t want to stomach it, she had to, and she could, she didn’t  _ want _ to, she wanted her mom—

While Lawscale  chased the Lodestar out of the open window, Prospera pulled the Benevole’s body into her lap and embraced her. The old jealous flame at last helped Rose snap out of her revulsion and instead look out the window. The Lodestar was stumbling, clearly exhausted beyond her limits but still fleeing the scene. Lawscale would catch her, but not soon, as they crossed the pastures of Trueshot’s estate toward a distant treeline.

“Rose!”

She looked up into the sky to find Dave floating above the hive.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t your station!” she called to him.

“Everyone and their nanny monster is here, so I came too! But what now?!”

Looking up at Dave, Rose noticed another flicker of light behind him, this one colored and rapidly flashing between red and blue. So Rose pointed, “Follow Sollux! He’s heading after Aradia and Terezi! I’ll keep it covered here!”

Dave changed direction and sped off, and Rose ducked back into the block, surveying the corpses and the weeping Prospera. The troll didn’t even acknowledge Rose’s presence. None of them did, really, too lost in these panicked memories of the past. Like a true therapist, she spared a thought for how long it would take to coax them back to their usual selves after this.

And she wondered how long it would take her to put Kanaya’s lifeless face and bloody body out of her mind.

 

* * *

 

As Pounce drew closer to the hive, Nepeta knew she had once called this place hive, too. She and Trueshot had lived here together, as he helped her, guided her, and tried to see her grow. As she moved through the new soundless world, guilt and shame mixed with her fear and pain until she felt nearly sick. But she had to know what that shooting star was seeking, and if there was any hope left for any of them.

Just inside the door, she already felt that hope die. Trueshot had an arrow through his eye, lying dead on the floor of his own foyer. On instinct, she dropped to all fours and crawled close to him, nestling between his arm and chest and closing her eyes as tears leaked out. She never even got to apologize. He died thinking she hated him, and she’d never get the chance to tell him…

She wasn’t sure how long she spent crying, but another thought gave her the will to get up. Trueshot must have given his life to protect something. But what? She tore through the familiar halls, looking everywhere, and then took the stairs up to find a block with the door ajar. The Chimeric already lay slain on a cushioned bench, crimson blood standing out on sweeps’ worth of previous stains, and a woman Nepeta didn’t recognize knelt over the dead body of another unfamiliar troll. Glass from the broken window lay strewn on the floor and she didn’t know what to do.

 

* * *

 

The pain ran through Aradia’s whole body now. She had nothing left to fight with, no strength, no psionics, no plan, no escape, and there was still a fresh, determined Vigilant chasing her. Maybe if she reached the treeline she could disappear, but if she so much as second-guessed herself, she’d be caught for sure.

“Stop in the name of the law!”

Maybe… she should just stop. She had her vengeance and she had no matesprit. What did it matter if they caught her? Instinct had kept her running for all those sweeps, but this must be the end of the line. It must be time to give up. She stumbled, fell, and knew it was over. She would be caught in just another instant. She looked over her shoulder at Lawscale and wondered if she would have enough honor to take Aradia to trial.

“ _ Hold it right there _ !”

A new voice echoed above them, and in another moment, flashing light surrounded Aradia and Terezi, freezing them about ten yards apart from each other. Aradia could barely think as her psionic savior dropped from the sky and hovered between them, his palms extended like he was physically shoving them apart.

“What are you doing here?” Lawscale cried, but Twinhorn didn’t answer her. He just held them apart for another minute before he looked Aradia’s way.

“Can you run?” he asked her.

Aradia looked from him to Lawscale, and realizing his intentions, she nodded.

Twinhorn let her go.

So she kept running.

* * *

 

Between Lawscale and Twinhorn, who seemed to have this shit on lock, and the Lodestar running deeper into the woods to do mysterious things, Dave wanted to witness the mysterious things. So he flew over the canopy, following the rustblood below.

 

* * *

 

“Twinhorn, what the fuck do you think you’re doing!? She killed three people, I need to catch her, she has to—she has to face trial!”

Sollux took a deep breath and sighed, his psionics still humming through his body as he held Lawscale captive. This was all his fault, every last bit of it. And now it was time to own up to that.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not even going to remotely cover it, but I think you should know… that I am. I’m so, so sorry.”

“What are you talking about!? We can still catch her—just let me go,  _ help me! _ ”

“I can’t. I think I owe her at least that much.” Sollux squared his shoulders with Terezi, still not releasing his power. He could feel her fighting it, and every move she made drove this spike deeper into his chest. “How much has gone wrong? I know it’s all gone wrong, but… what exactly did?”

“We don’t have time for this! Let me go!”

“Tell me what happened and I will.”

He saw—somehow he was seeing again, even though his ghost was blind, but whatever—Terezi wrestle with that question. “Trueshot, the Benevole, and the Chimeric are all dead. She killed them.”

“How did the Chimeric end up here? The Huntsman was in the clearing, he had an army.”

“Prospera. She used a magic monster to send him here, we thought we could get to the Chimeric first, but then  _ she _ did—”

“And what happened to the Huntsman?”

“After he shot the Chimeric, the Mournful—he’s dead! Now will you keep your promise and let me go?!”

He took another breath and complied. When Lawscale could move again, she sprinted after the long-gone Lodestar, but Sollux reached out his arm and blocked her path again.

“Hang on,” he said. “A psionic who fled the scene of the battle and killed three people. That’s the criminal profile, isn’t it?”

“Twinhorn—”

“Arrest me,” he told her. “It’s all my fault anyway. I’m the one who said they should go, I put the Huntsman in danger and drove the Lodestar to kill. I should take her place.”

Lawscale gripped his arm, desperate. “Cullbee, this isn’t your fault!”

“But what about the guy who coded up fake jadeblood identities for the Chimeric? A guy who knew about his location a few perigees after he went shithive and didn’t tell anyone? I hid him and I helped him and I’m the reason all of this happened, from all angles.”

When Terezi blinked, this time tears ran from under her shades. “ _ Sollux… _ ” It stung that she knew his hatch name, stung that she used it here. “How could you?”

“I’m just… a disaster,” Sollux answered her, the words heavy on his shoulders and in his mouth. “I thought I had everything under control and that I didn’t have to choose, but… now it’s time for me to face the consequences.”

He stepped just a little closer, leaning toward Terezi’s face until he could kiss her cheek. And he did, the strangeness of it counteracted by how true and right it was. Twinhorn loved her.

“Thank you for everything you did for me, even if I threw it all away. Of all the things I’ve done, I regret hurting you the most.” He stepped away from her, staring at his feet and unable to look her in the eye. “Call reinforcementers if you need, but I’ll be here… until the arrest.”

Now Lawscale stepped back, stumbling as she did, before she ran back for the hive in a full sprint. Sollux watched her go, prepared to face his doom.

 

* * *

 

This crying woman would not move, shaking in silence as Nepeta observed her, not even looking up to notice another troll in the room. Maybe she didn’t even realize there was more than one dead body around her, either. Nepeta took a moment to show grief in her way, kneeling and nuzzling the Chimeric’s limp, cold hand, but that was over quickly compared to the waterworks behind her.

“LADY,” Nepeta couldn’t hear her own voice, but if she said it loud and big enough, she could feel the shapes her mouth made. “YOU THERE. LADY.”

The woman looked up at her, streaks of cerulean down her face, and she looked… puzzled. Her lips moved, but quivered too much for Nepeta to have any idea what she was saying.

“WE HAVE TO GO. IF SOMEONE COMES, THEY’LL THINK THIS IS OUR FAULT.”

She shook her head, looking down at the corpse again and holding her close.

“WE CAN’T HAVE A CORPSE PARTY! WE HAVE TO  _ GO _ !”

Nepeta reached down to grab the woman’s hand, and even though she fought, she had no strength in it, too rattled by grief to resist Nepeta’s pull. In a few minutes, they were out of the hive, past the kneeling Oberion, exhausted on the front lawnring, and then back the direction they came, into the wilderness, Pounce following close at their heels.

* * *

 

 

Terezi trudged back toward the hive and retraced familiar steps past one corpse to the block with the other two. What was she supposed to say? There were so many holes in her defense, inexplicable magic and fuzzy reasoning, and now  _ Twinhorn  _ of all trolls had admitted guilt, someone she knew so well—or, thought she knew so well. His obvious blame for other crimes warred with his innocence in these murders as she tried to hold tight to the idea not all guilt was equal. As she stood over the Chimeric’s corpse, she realized how two of the trolls she admired most, and thought admired her, had done so much wrong to the world. She had failed them both.

In the emptiness, she realized something else: Prospera was missing. No longer sobbing over the dead Benevole, the hive was still and silent, housing only three cadavers. Where was she? Had she fled? Was her mourning a ruse, and she had intended to flee the instant Terezi left?

Then Terezi smelled something… glowing. Catching a crystal-white scent, she turned to the Benevole’s body and knelt beside it, witness to the light suffusing her body, like a bright bulb underneath her very skin—

And before she could contemplate it further, two long fangs sunk into her neck.

 

* * *

 

Kanaya didn’t mean to bite so fast and hard. She had just felt the presence of a living body and the instinct to  _ feed _ moved her before she truly woke up. She wrapped her arms around the body and greedily drained sweet teal blood into her mouth. When the thirst was slaked, Kanaya found the will to pull back. Lawscale hung limply in her arms, still breathing but unconscious and definitely missing a pint or two of blood. 

What had she done? She drank the blood of another troll, that was… that was cannibalistic, unthinkable, like something from a horror story! When she let go of Lawscale, she saw her hands surrounded by phosphorescence, and when she touched her stomach, she felt that fatal wound stitching closed beneath her fingers.

She was a rainbowdrinker now. And Kanaya remembered the Benevole thinking, _ I’m a monster now. _

She backed out of the room, tearing down the hall, seeing Trueshot dead, and coming to the realization she couldn’t stand to be here anymore. She couldn’t stand to be anywhere anymore. No one would accept her, and at this rate she couldn’t return to the caverns, not ever, not with this hideous glow and thirst for blood. She would be a danger to her sisters and the grubs, if they could even bear to accept one of the undead into the caverns.

So she rummaged through the kitchen, taking water and dry food, and stealing the tablecloth to make a bundle. She nervously entered her block again and chose a few personal items, more than she would have brought back to the caverns, but still light. After taking a moment to wrap a bandage around Lawscale’s neck she was certain she was ready to go now—but she halted, like her own reason took the chance to touch her shoulder and hold her back.

One final stop, then. She made her way back into Trueshot’s study and found the small chest of letters, where he had stored all the correspondence from Prospera that Kanaya had been too angry and hurt and proud to read.

And then she, too, ran off into the night.

 

* * *

 

_ This is stupid, _ Vriska thought. This feral woman dragged her deeper into the woods, that roarbeast lusus following her steps, like they could flee the consequences of this. What did it matter if she evaded consequence this time? Her mission, her purpose, her love, all of it was dead, at the hands of a warmblood so low it wouldn’t even matter if they locked her up, she’d be dead too before long. And what did Vriska have left? Nothing.

So with nothing anchoring her, the Tameless easily pulled Vriska along.

Vriska had a sense that she and the Tameless had walked for hours, but thankfully the memory didn’t make them live that out in real time. They just found a small patch of dirt where the forest’s underbrush was thin. The Tameless knelt down and settled against the lusus for a moment. Vriska could see blood drying in the curves of her ears.

“That’s why you were talking so loudly?” Vriska asked her. “Because you’re deaf now?”

The Tameless said nothing, just hugging her lusus for a long while. Frankly, Vriska didn’t care about the answer. Everything had gone so wrong. Her plan to save the had Chimeric failed. Her hope to win back the Benevole was over. Her chance of impressing the Vigilant was lost. What was she supposed to do now?

After a while, the Tameless moved, looking in the ground for something, and soon selecting a tough, chipped rock. She approached one of the trees and started to carve lines into it. Vriska watched as the curious shapes unfolded. She drew two signs: the Zahhak bloodline’s, and below it, the Makara bloodline’s. Then she stepped back and knelt, touching her forehead to the ground as her shoulders shook, crying.

Vriska watched this for a minute, before she realized what she needed to do. She tapped her on the shoulder and then scribbled some circles on her palm with the other finger. The Tameless understood, and gave Vriska the sharp-edged stone. She took a moment to find a tree of her own, and then sliced some sharp lines into the bark until she could see the Maryam bloodline’s sign clearly.

But that didn’t feel like enough. There was more that Vriska was mourning. So she dropped lower and drew another sign beneath it. The curved loop gave her a little trouble, but soon she had a passable Pyrope sign. Even though she wasn’t dead, Vriska felt she needed some extra respect. She tried to consider how she could mark the Chimeric’s death, but he had no sign—no Beforan sign, at least. And scribbling up one now felt more disrespectful to the dead than anything else. So, she copied the Tameless’s bow and touched her forehead to the ground, in honor of the dead and beloved.

_ What do we do now? _

Vriska didn’t know. She was lost and alone and powerless. And something in the memory told her that Prospera had stayed that way.

* * *

 

 

Rose followed the Benevole out of the hive, staying respectfully away from her heels. She really seemed intent to run in this moment, taking off at top speed and maintaining it across miles and miles. Did the infusion of blood render her impervious to fatigue for a time? Or were these miles shorter than expected?

The sun gradually lightened the horizon, and then truly dawned, and the Benevole slowed. She sat down on a hill and opened her bundle, touching the water and food but not unwrapping any of it. Then she took the chest and opened that, with easily hundreds of cerulean-stamped letters spilling out. The Benevole looked less surprised and more sad to see that many, but she took the nearest letter and unfolded it, beginning to read.

And she read another. And another. And another. Dozens of letters, each one bringing a look of pain and sorrow to her eyes. Rose felt that it had taken hours for the Benevole to read all of those letters, but the uncertain fabric of time allowed that to pass much quicker, until the new rainbowdrinker sat with all the letters unfolded around her and her hands pressed to her crying face.

_ No one should make you look like that. Nothing should ever make you look so sad… _

After yet more time, the Benevole collected herself. She took all the letters and neatly slotted them back in the chest. Then she stood up, faced the sun, and took a deep breath. By the time she exhaled it, new calm appeared on her face.

 

* * *

 

The Lodestar didn’t get far. She just made it to the first semi-sheltered clearing and then conked the fuck out. Dave watched her lie sprawled on the ground for a minute, then a minute more, clearly not getting up. He felt tempted to poke her and check if she was dead, but he knew that would be counter-productive. Not to mention, a minute later, the chimera appeared again, striding with a paradoxically awkward grace to her sleeping form and spreading its dragon wings to keep the deadly beams of sunlight off her body. Night came again and the chimera vanished before she woke.

Then she kept walking. More walking, more walking, and Dave floated behind her like a peeping ghost. Or maybe he should try and think of himself as a guardian angel, so as not to freak himself out. But he did still keep a close eye on the Lodestar, seeing her exhaustion and sorrow. Her murders slowed her down like chains on her legs.

Eventually, she made it to a grassy hill, under the moon and stars, and she took a chance to open the bag she had stolen from the Chimeric. It contained a roughly spherical rock about the size of a basketball, and a familiar leather-bound journal, with one chimera face on each cover. The Lodestar examined the stone for a few minutes, trying to parse the glyphs on its surface, a few of them worn and ancient and others carved fresh, barely scratched into the surface of the rock.

Dave recognized a spirograph.  _ Is that Sburb? Or Sgrub?  _

The Lodestar lost interest in the stone and instead picked up the journal, flipping through its pages and getting a gist for the content inside, until she reached around the middle. Even Dave could see those words over her shoulder, huge and bold, unlike the rest of the meticulous script.

LODESTAR: THROW THE KEYSTONE AS FAR AWAY AS YOU CAN. THIS WILL SAVE US ALL.

Then the final few pages in the journal were blank. The Lodestar set it aside and picked up the rock again—the keystone, or whatever. She looked around, like she was trying to decide how far was far enough, before she looked up, and saw the pink moons, a smaller one orbiting the larger.

It took her a minute to figure out what she was going to do, how she could do it, but she stepped back and gritted her teeth. Psionic light encircled the keystone which started to orbit around the Lodestar’s body like a discus thrower preparing a spin. In another minute, with a mighty yell torn from her throat in the process, she flung the keystone up into the sky, and then into space, the arc of its flight disappearing with a twinkle.

_ What if it missed? _ Dave thought. But that was impossible, preordained as all of this was. It had to land on the moon, where Meenah could find it and turn it into the game that destroyed the world.

As soon as the keystone was gone, the Lodestar swayed and fell back, looking on the verge of fainting again. Her power had obviously never been worked so hard, and now she had nothing left to do. Moments later, the chimera appeared again, stepping closer to the Lodestar with its furry head first. She leaned against the beast’s mass and closed her eyes, reddish tears falling onto white fur and scales.

And Dave knew it was all over.


	73. Post Game Analysis

Terezi groaned as she ‘came to.’ She didn’t think she had actually lost consciousness, since dreaming within dreams didn’t seem to be a thing (as far as she could tell), but that bite on her neck eventually hurt too much for her to keep lying there motionless. As she sat up, she tried to shake off the memory of the bite, but it ached deep and stubborn in her neck.

“Fuck,” she mumbled. “This hurts like she bit me for real… do you think she sleep-bit me?”

No one answered her. She sat up and sniffed around the trashed room, basically sensing that everything was still in chaos, and the only other occupant was Karkat’s still-lifeless body.

“Hello…?” He still didn’t move, so she groaned. “Get up, drama nubs, the memory is over. We need to reconvene.”

“Won’t they reconvene with us here?” Karkat asked, still sprawled in a ‘dead’ pose on the reclining surface.

“That’s the plan, but we could at least be _presentable_. Maybe if you sat the fuck up?” She laughed and added, “How else are we going to give you a shiny gold star for playing along, hmm?”

He let out a sigh before righting himself and sitting up, the rainbow rumpus still splattered across his chest and arrow morbidly jutting out of his body. Terezi wanted to call him on it, but she could still smell her glittery Vigilant buttons and knew she still looked like Lawscale, so she couldn’t fault him for not changing. She didn’t quite feel like changing yet, either. But it did seem weird for Karkat to not even speak, especially after so much had happened.

“Are you mad at us?” she asked.

“Why would I be?”

“For your shitty role in all of this, what with the violence and death,” she said. “Though, at least you knew that was what happened in this memory for you. I think Kanaya was totally shocked.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“…How about all that stuff with Aradia? Didn’t think she was going to go on such a murder rampage.”

“Neither did I—I just knew she would be the one to kill me in the end.”

Terezi’s mouth twisted in an inquisitive squiggle. Okay, it was one thing to still have the clothes on, but another thing for Karkat to still be _talking_ like an ancestor. But this had to be their Karkat, he had known his password back at the beginning.

People arrived before she could think on it too hard: Dave, Aradia, and Sollux flew back in through the shattered window, the boys supporting Aradia between them. She smelled haggard, but gave everyone a small yet cheery smile.

“Woah, what happened to you?”

“Overexertion,” she answered. “The Lodestar… pushed herself too far... by the end… so I need some rest.”

“Marvellous,” Karkat said. “Excellent work. Now, Dave, could we change the subject slightly?”

“Not yet dude, everyone needs to round up, and there’s some shit in need of hashing.”

Dave and Sollux helped Aradia to a spot on the couch next to Karkat. Terezi couldn’t help laughing a little at the scent of a bloodied, post-murdered Karkat sitting next to the troll who did the murdering like they could just have mid-morning tea together.

“Terezi," Dave continued, "how was the you-and-Sollux scene? I went and followed the lost sheep so I didn’t see how that ended.”

“Oh, right! Basically, Twinhorn revealed that he had been a double-agent the whole time, assisting the Chimeric in secret. It’s how he cracked the brooding caverns. And then Twinhorn decided to take the blame for all of the Lodestar’s murders.”

“So that’s how he gets to jail with the Mournful?”

“Sounds like it. What did Aradia do?”

Still winded, Aradia pointed to Dave, giving him permission to explain. “So Lodestar kept running for ages, and she had the chimera all following her like a guardian fucking angel, until she made it to a hill and found out what was in the Chimeric’s bag. Turned out it was his childhood journal, the one we’ve been passing around like a cheap cigar, and a keystone of the code for Sgrub. He left her some instructions to throw it as far away as she could, and Lodestar decided the furthest she could go was to the goddamn moon.”

“Which is where it needed to be for Meenah to find it and recruit our dancestors to play!” Terezi added. “I think Rose is going to love this, once she shows up.”

“Hey, is my part over? Can I go?” Sollux asked.

“What’s on your busy half-ghostly schedule that’s so important you have to leave now, Mr Appleberry?”

“I dunno. Finding TV, maybe.”

“They have TV in the dreambubbles?”  
  
“Not TV, _TV_.  Our friend.”

Aradia reached out a hand and swatted at Sollux’s arm until he raised it enough to let her grab hold. “We can wait… a few more minutes!” she panted. “These are our friends, too.”

“Whatever.”

Vriska and Nepeta arrived next, with Equius trailing behind them. Vriska still smelled half-dressed like a Beforan and Nepeta fully reverted to her usual Alternian self, and Equius at least being alive and not smelling of blood and gore. “Sorry to keep everyone waiting!” Vriska announced.

“We’re still waiting. We need Rose and Kanaya back,” Dave told her.

“Oh. Fine then. Aren’t you curious to know where Prospera went?”

“I kind of am,” Terezi asked. “Only because I think the answer is, she saw a chance to escape punishment for past crimes and took it. Maybe starting over as some kind of Beforan gamblignant?”

“Nope, it was me!” Nepeta interrupted. “The Tameless didn’t recognize Purrspera and thought she might get arrested if she stayed, same as the Tameless! So she pulled her away and they mourned in the woods together before the Tameless returned to the wilderness!”

Vriska had a hint of blueberry blush on her face, the uncool side of Prospera on full display. “You make that sound so lame, ugh.”

“I mean, you were crying _pretty_ hard over the Benevole’s body,” Terezi reminded her.

“Look, that was _one_ part of a larger memory—we really need to focus on the bigger picture here!”

Terezi snorted. Vriska’s instincts were right, but Terezi would bet a boonmint this call for the bigger picture was a ploy to make everyone to stop talking about her hideous display of emotion.

“Actually, I have a question.” Karkat lifted a hand for attention. “Is this really a meeting that requires everyone’s input? There’s a few other memories of interest to me tangentially related to what we all just re-created, and I’d like to go and explore those.”

“Calm your rumble spheres, Vantas, we’ll get this over with soon enough. How much did you guys discuss without me?”

Terezi gave a quick run-down of Twinhorn’s allegiance and Lodestar’s epic moon-toss, and Nepeta added a somewhat faint recollection that the Chimeric had told his inner circle he planned to steal a matriorb as well, and that’s what she had assumed the heavy sphere in his bag had been. But even that was a trick, because apparently the Chimeric had never stolen an matriorb. It was the Sgrub code all along. Terezi didn’t know whether to be unsettled or proud that some version of Karkat had learned the value of tactical lies. Actual Karkat just seemed annoyed, arms folded across his chest as everyone synchronized their information.

Soon, even Rose and Kanaya returned, with Kanaya already back in her usual favored outfit, probably because the Benevole had also been covered in blood by the end there. Reminded again about the appearance modifiers, Terezi touched the edge of her glasses, and felt the pointed corners of her favorite pair. Sinking back into herself after such an intense memory felt nice, like stepping out of the ablution trap after a thorough soak and scrub.

“So, what did we learn today?” Rose asked, getting the summary of the parts she had missed at the battlefield and outside in the field. She and Kanaya added to it with more information about how the Benevole had fled the scene of her own murder and finally read long-ignored letters from Prospera, before…

“I don’t actually know for certain what she-slash-I decided to do,” Kanaya summarized. “I know that she felt adrift and separated from her primary duty, and was trying to reconcile a desire to help with her resurrection as a rainbow drinker.”

“So she never returned to the caverns?” Vriska asked.

“She feared that, as an undead creature, she would be unfit for service…” Her face fell for some reason, and Rose reached out and took her hand.

“So Chimeric is dead, Trueshot is dead, Huntsman is dead, Benevole died but revived and ran away, Lodestar ran away, Tameless ran away, I think Prospera ran away but I have no clue where she ran _to_ …” Vriska summed up.

“So many of you just ran the fuck away, what the hell,” Dave quipped.

Vriska continued, “Twinhorn went to jail, Mournful went to jail, Seafarer survived and did creepy grubnapping shit, Compasse survived and kept culling services going, and Lawscale… what happened to Lawscale after this?”

Terezi shrugged. “I don’t actually know. She probably had something to do with the ones who went to jail, but I didn’t get a sense of what she did next based on her memory here.”

“This isn’t something we need to debate now,” Karkat jumped in again. “There’s no useful context here to find that answer, and frankly, this serves as a very functional punctuation mark for the end of this tale! So what I would _prefer_ is if we found a new topic of discussion!”

Dave answered him tersely, “You need to cool down. We’re not starting anything new until everyone’s satisfied, got it?”

And that just wasn’t _right_. Karkat’s frustration had never smelled so sour before, and there was no way Dave would be speaking to Karkat like this, even if he wasn’t acting like himself for some reason. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Do you two have some unaired grievances with each other?” Terezi interrupted. “Or maybe you have something to _share_ with the rest of us?”

“Yeah, like what quadrant you’re in,” Vriska teased, and she held up her hand for a high-five from Terezi. Confident that Vriska would steal sufficient luck for Terezi to take a blind swing, she matched the gesture and heard a satisfying clap.

“Why the fuck are you bringing that up?! That’s got nothing to do with this!”

“I’m actually with my fellow Seer on this one, Dave,” Rose spoke up. “I’ll even translate my request to something you’re sure to understand: cut the horseshit.”

Dave groaned and waved vaguely at Karkat. “Alright man, you heard the flighty broad, it’s time to pull the plug on Operation Horseshit.”

“We never named it that,” Karkat protested, but he blinked, and the pieces came together.

Karkat never stopped acting like the Chimeric because he _was_ the Chimeric, ghostly white eyes and all. With his change, the arrow stuck out of his shirt vanished—though the rest of the stains stayed—and he seemed more natural in his adult size. Terezi hadn’t realized that she had been perceiving him as some kind of elongated Karkat until the Chimeric showed what the proper adult proportions looked like.

“What the fuck?! What the _actual fuck_?!” Vriska’s reaction dominated the surprise of their colleagues because it carried anger with it. “When the hell did you get here?!”

“I was always here,” the Chimeric answered. “Your Karkat never arrived in the bubble.”

“But you passed our password check!”

“Dave colluded with me on the condition that I could ensure your Karkat spent this time in safety, which I did.”

“Hang on—” Kanaya spoke up, but Vriska stepped to the center of the room first.

“ _Hang on,_ I believe there was one _specific individual_ who wanted us to implement a password system _precisely because_ you were so fucking paranoid about non-Karkats being Karkat!!!!!!!! So for _you_ to be the one to break with the system and let an impostor waltz around being him is far beyond ironic, it’s imbecilic!!!!!!!!”

Dave tried to scoot away from Vriska’s tirade, which Terezi figured she had the power to stop as a moirail, but she _also_ figured that Dave fucking deserved it for keeping secrets. How she hadn’t sniffed out a fake Karkat earlier was probably her fault and she didn’t really feel like acknowledging that.

“What I wanted to say was, if you are here, then where is Karkat?!” Kanaya got her words in, standing up to the Chimeric defiantly.

“He’s with an ally of mine, and he is fine,” the Chimeric promised. “We used a simple redirection to ensure he ended up in another bubble.”

“But why the secrecy?”

“I was hoping your mission would assist mine, and wanted to make my presence as minimal as possible. I spent a whole life in ostentatious positions of leadership and decided I didn’t want to draw more attention to myself in the afterlife.” He snorted a little. “To be honest, you two gave me the idea by accident.”

“Us?” Vriska asked. “How?”

“When you first mistook me for my own descendant. I had been wandering without thinking for some time and I must have stumbled my way into Kankri’s persona. When you called me his name, I thought I would learn more by not correcting you, and I was right.”

“That library! But why didn’t you find us again and tell us later? You have no idea how many questions we have for you!”

“I understand _exactly_ how many questions you have for me. I just didn’t feel like answering them,” the Chimeric said. “It was one of the most useful strategies in my political education: encouraging people to speak freely to you under the assumption that you have nothing to offer them.”

“But what is it exactly you’re looking for?” Rose asked.

“I want to find my moirail. You gave me the impression you had found him, so I made a deal with Dave that if I re-enacted this memory with you, he would take me to the dreambubble where his ghost resides.”

“Did Dave also tell you that the only person who has been able to reliably find that bubble is our Karkat, who is not here because of your diversion?” Rose continued.

“No…” The Chimeric turned slowly toward Dave, a boiling anger under his even, clipped tone. “I suspect that he deliberately failed to mention that.”

Dave held up his hands. “It was an easy way to do a hard thing.”

“You _scoundrel_.”

“Wow, that’s a burn. Really big burn there. ‘Scoundrel,’ fuck. Someone get me some ice.”

“Listen, this doesn’t need to be a crisis,” Rose continued. “I think most of us here are willing to help you just as much as Dave. We just don’t appreciate the deception, since there are a number of enemies we expect to face and we were afraid you were one of them. If we have to wait for Karkat’s return anyway, we could pass the time having a… conversation?”

“On what topic?”

“Alternia, Earth, Sgrub and Sburb, and the indestructible demon of legend all come to mind,” Rose said. “And then you might be willing to offer a few more pieces of lore regarding Beforus?”

The Chimeric managed to laugh. “That could be agreeable, yes.”

Aradia took that moment to stand up, recovered enough to breathe normally and also swap back into her deliriously tasty fairy ensemble. “We could try and round up some other participants if you like. There are a few dancestors who might get a lot out of this conversation!”

“Fine,” Sollux agreed, while Nepeta cheered and Equius raised a sweaty thumbs-up.

“Also, I’m sorry about murdering you,” Aradia told the Chimeric.

“All is forgiven, and I appreciate your assistance setting up this dialogue. Now, we should leave this place of despair and find somewhere more suitable for a large number to spend some time talking. Downstairs first, and then we’ll see where the memory takes us?”

Ghosts and dreamers agreed, and the group filed out of the murder-block to find someplace new to converse. The ghosts drifted away to other bubbles and Terezi remembered a question she had for the Chimeric. “I meant to ask this earlier—who’s this ally of yours?”

He laughed, patted her on the head between the horns, and said nothing else. He just left her to examine Trueshot’s dining room and decide if it would be a sufficient venue.

“What an asshole,” Vriska mumbled, looping her arm across Terezi’s shoulder protectively.

But Terezi understood. She could feel a blush on her face, which hopefully only Vriska noticed.

 

* * *

 

_Fucking Vriska with her fucking self-importance and her fucking awful leadership and her fucking god complex…_

Karkat trudged through the bubble, one foot in front of the other, his inner monologue running on autopilot. Each expletive punctuated the fall of his feet like a marching song from a foul-mouthed threshecutioner corporal. Was he even in the right bubble? Wasn’t someone supposed to come and get him by now?

He stopped a moment and sighed, looking around at the endlessly copied identical trees. “Hello? Aradia? Dave? Are you guys trying to prank me, because this is ridiculous and stupid and I am going to lop the head off of anyone who thinks jumping out at me right now is a good idea!”

“Aw, do you really mean that, Karkles?”

Turning on his heel, he saw Terezi poke her head out from behind a tree, all red-glasses and shark-smile.

“I do! And I appreciate you taking that into your fucking pump biscuit for once!” But wait, there was procedure to follow. “Who are you?”

“Vriska, you dummy,” she answered, passing inspection with a needless insult. “Everyone else is in position, we just need you to join the party! You’re the guest of honor, what are you doing being late?”

“Sorry,” Karkat grumbled at her.

Terezi crossed to him and took hold of one of his hands. “Here we go. Let the blind lead the blind.”

He growled at her terrible use of that phrase, but otherwise held onto her as she led him out of the endless forest and into someplace new: a field surrounded by trees, near some steep hills on the verge of becoming mountains. The closer they got, the more some shadowy imprints came into focus: the rebel forces, the beasts, and the Huntsman on his mount.

“Where is everyone else?” Karkat asked.

“In position, I told you. So stand here on this spot and get the action started!” Terezi advised, pointing to a patch of grass kind of to the left of where one would stand if they wanted to stare down a brownblood on a horse. Karkat sighed, took up his position, and stared at the Beforan Tavros, sad and resigned.

“Are you ready yet?”

“Give me a minute! And get out of my sight, you’re distracting me!”

Terezi finally obliged, and Karkat stared at the shadow, trying to find what the Chimeric was feeling. Confidence, maybe? He had sweeps of warning before his death. So maybe he was here to deliver a ‘fuck you’ to the Huntsman before meeting his end? But what was he even here to do, this was after the cavebreak, but what was his plan? The Chimeric always had a plan, that was his _thing_ , he was the Plan Guy, and what was Karkat’s plan? Just stand here and die for his friends?

But he would. Of course he would. And the longer he stared at the Huntsman, the more he thought about Tavros, and how this ancestor story took all those people Karkat had called his friends and pitted them on opposite sides of a war. He had just made things worse, hadn't he? He always made things worse.

 _Enough of that._ Karkat squeezed his eyes shut and tried to make the memory move by sheer force. Just… imagine an arrow in the chest. Just piercing him. And it was gonna hurt like a fucking bitch, but he could get through it. Right _now._

Just… _now._

Shoot him _now._

Shoot him _fucking now!_

_NOW!_

Something touched his nose and Karkat leapt back, eyes snapping open again to see the attacker. But it wasn’t an attacker, not really. Someone had tapped the tip of his nose with a single finger. And that finger was attached to an arm in a white coat, and that arm belonged to a beautiful woman, currently crouched down in front of Karkat. She wore her hair long, and had square red shades and long, balanced horns.

The Vigilant Lawscale—tall, teal, and crazy—rose to her full height and adjusted her glasses with practiced grace.

“Your enthusiasm is very endearing, Karkat Vantas,” she told him. “But there are better uses of your time than playing dead, don’t you agree?”

All Karkat’s throat would give him was a strangled noise of confusion.

“Don’t worry about your friends. We’ve found an acceptable substitute for your role in that exact memory. Why don’t you and I take this opportunity to explore another angle?” She extended her hand to him again with courtly elegance so sharp it could shave a meowbeast. “That is, if you are willing to be my companion.”

He swallowed down his nerves. Then he reached out a trembling hand to shake hers.


	74. Blind Girl Walking

Karkat had read passages about how much the Vigilant Lawscale had impressed the young Chimeric. Now he actually understood what that pretentious, ivory-hivestem asshole meant.

He had sputtered out a generalized question about what the fuck was going on, which Lawscale was in the midst of answering as Karkat contained his freak-out. She moved with balanced precision, like a tightrope walker, and the way she tilted her face away from him as  she spoke made even mundane words ring with mystery. She had Terezi’s voice, obviously, but its deeper tone felt more grown, more mature. This Pyrope was less likely to lick first and ask questions later, though she maintained the same threatening edge. All the feelings he had once had toward Terezi stirred up in his gastric sac, which first gave him a pang of guilt given his current quadrant status, until he remembered that Dave had once been in the exact same seafaring vessel. Dave was his matesprit now, but if he were faced with Lawscale like this, the troll had a feeling that Strider would be trapped in an endless word geyser of complimentary stupidity, desperate for a sentence finisher he could shove between his teeth. The mental image helped Karkat deal a little better.  
  
Even in his distraction, he got a gist of the ancestors’ plan. Lawscale had diverted Karkat to another version of the same bubble, and the Chimeric took Karkat’s place. His friends would realize Karkat was gone when the memory was over, at which point they’d bring the Chimeric to the Mournful and Lawscale would bring Karkat back to the group.   
  
“Wait, that’s what he’s after? The Mournful?” Karkat interrupted.   
  
“Is that a problem?”   
  
“Kind of. We think I’m the only one who can find the Mournful’s bubble. The Chimeric and my friends can search all they want and they’ll never get anywhere.”   
  
Lawscale’s grin widened. “What a twist of fate! In light of that news, I’m sure the Chimeric would want me to bring you to him immediately… but I don’t see any reason to subscribe to concepts like ‘haste’ in this environment. You will return to your friends, and you will arrive at the moment that suits you best. You will not be missed until the trick is discovered, and then you will be missed very terribly, but there’s nothing to worry about.”   
  
“I guess that’s true,” Karkat said. “So where to now?”   
  
“What makes you think I know?”   
  
“Maybe because you’re the ancient ghost of an adult who has done your research or whatever a Beforan legislacerator does, so it stands to fucking reason that you’ve got a grand bubble tour all planned out for me.”   
  
Lawscale laughed at that, and Karkat felt his cheeks get hotter. “In that respect, I am guilty as charged, but I don’t intend to leave you entirely without options. I could narrow it down to a simple choice: would you like to follow the renegades, or the law enforcers?”   
  
Karkat turned those options over in his head, looking around the bubble at what few distinct features it had. The Huntsman in the distance, the point on the mountain where Lawscale and Prospera had watched it all, the circle of rebels behind him… “I want to see the renegades.”   
  
“An excellent choice,” Lawscale said, and she started to walk in a direction. Smoke-imprints dissipated in her wake, changing the scene, and Karkat felt like he needed to follow.   
  
“Wait, is it an excellent choice because you actually think it was a good idea, or because I picked what you wanted me to?” Karkat asked, falling into step slightly behind her.   
  
“Yes,” Lawscale answered.   
  
He scowled at the back of her head. Terezi Pyrope of Alternia was tricky enough. How was he supposed to handle a full fucking adult Terezi? “What actually happened at the battle, since we’re leaving it?”   
  
“Rogue elements and hidden twists caused the situation to spin out of control. The Chimeric, possessed with knowledge of the troll who would kill him, mistook that information as a sign that he had more time to live, so he rashly exposed himself to danger. Then the Lodestar’s presence introduced violence into the equation. In trying to rescue her matesprit, sheinstead triggered a chain of events that would kill him. Prospera used her influence in the mind of the Huntsman to command the First Guardian to send the Chimeric to the Benevole for medical assistance. Then everyone and their lusus—literally—converged at the hive of Guardian Trueshot, where most of the tale ends.”   
  
As they walked, new shadows of memory-people started to emerge around them. The trees gave way for hivestems and storefronts and tall municipal structures in the background. Karkat could see vague impressions of people around him, smears of hues mixed together up and down the hemospectrum. Forming just ahead of them, a crowd of maybe a hundred trolls trudged forward in spite of obvious injury and exhaustion. Karkat could pick out a few jadebloods in the center and realized these were the survivors of the battle they had just left. They started to pool in a large communal quadrangle as other shadows gathered, curious but staying back.   
  
“What is this place?”   
  
“Grizzhod,” Lawscale said. “The ruddies conquered this city shortly before making their strike against the brooding caverns. It was an unprecedented theft of territory against her Radiance, but with heavy losses on all sides.”   
  
“So whose memory is this?”   
  
Lawscale pointed—slightly to the right—but Karkat saw who she meant. Emerging from a building at one end of the quad, the Seafarer stepped out and approached the rebels. The imprint wore the same regalia as his ghost, but Karkat could see it covered in snags and tears after sweeps of use without repair. It helped Karkat see something he hadn’t been able to when he met the Seafarer’s ghost: the Chimeric and Seafarer as allies.   
  
A man stepped out from the survivors, a tealblood man with straight, symmetrical horns. He exchanged words with the Seafarer, too vague to hear.   
  
“Just a summary of what you already know,” Lawscale whispered to him, until one line rang loud and clear.   
  
The aqua asked the Seafarer, “What do we do now?”   
  
The Seafarer paused, looking over the survivors, the cavern deserters, and the rebels gathered on all sides. Then he answered, “Do whatever you want.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“I said, do as you please,” the Seafarer clarified. “Fight, surrender, it doesn’t matter anymore.”   
  
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter!? What did everyone die for if it doesn’t matter!?”   
  
The Seafarer raised his voice. “I say our role is over! The Tameless is gone! The Mirthful is lost! The Chimeric is dead!” Gasps and cries passed through the crowd as they heard that. “And I’m leavin’.”   
  
He turned his back on the aqua, who started to chase after him, but stopped at the sound of panicked, confused mumbling from the other ruddies.   
  
“Okay, listen! _Listen_ !” He turned and addressed everyone. “Of course we’re going to fight! We’ve fought for so long and lost so much, you think we’re going to give up now?! We have our pride! We have our decalogue! We have everything we need to show those imperial bastards what we’re really made of! Now who’s with me?!”   
  
The crowd answered with silence as the memory started to crumble.   
  
“What’s happening?”   
  
“The Seafarer is leaving this scene,” Lawscale said. “Only individuals created through the process of ectobiology have their souls and memories preserved here, so we can only see what he remembers. I’m sure the Deadbeat gave a properly rousing speech.”   
  
“Deadbeat?” Where did Karkat know that name from? Fuck, so much had happened, he couldn’t keep things straight!   
  
“One of the Chimeric’s earliest followers and lieutenant commanders. I met him once, where he behaved like a sadistic scoundrel. With the chance to corroborate more evidence in the afterlife, I discovered his hostility was an act, but I don’t feel like forgiving him.” Lawscale took up walking again, leaving the crumbling bubble of Grizzhod. “Either way, he took up the mantle of the rebellion, along with a few other commanders, but the death of the Chimeric dealt a blow they never recovered from. Factions succumbed to internal bickering, and as deserters thinned their ranks, they strategically abandoned Grizzhod and made communities for themselves in the shadows.”   
  
“Oh my god, the lost weeaboos?” Karkat said.   
  
“The who?”

“I know the name is utter garbage, but two of our dancestors grew up in the fucking woods with no cullers around. Rufioh even had this story where a magic lightning bolt blew up his window so he could fly away and some lights led him to a bunch of treehives.”   
  
“I knew I would learn impossible things from you,” Lawscale said, half impressed and half incredulous. “I’d found countless thousands of memories belonging to the Seafarer, but I never discovered what the wigglers he led away called themselves.”

“He grubnapped _thousands_ of kids?”   
  
“I know that sounds terrible, but the Betrayer never struck me as the most monstrous of his ancestral peers,” Lawscale said. “And it’s definitely misleading to imply that the Betrayer’s victims were unilaterally harmed by his invitation to leave their lives behind.”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“Just a little further…”   
  
From the wreckage of Grizzhod, a craggy valley emerged and started to close in around, them, getting narrower and narrower until it had a ceiling. As the tunnel continued, a child appeared in front of Karkat and Lawscale, maybe three sweeps, hopping along in pursuit of a strange glowing bauble. Karkat’s wisdom as a film connoisseur screamed at him to hold the child back, but the rest of him knew that was pointless. It was just a memory from a twice-dead universe.   
  
The tunnel continued until it widened into a ravine, with a waterfall and sideways-growing trees up the sides. And it looked like an entire crew of young kids were waiting there, playing with each other at first, and then waving and shouting hello when they spotted the newcomer. Karkat squinted, trying to see whose memory this was, but he couldn’t recognize anyone’s signs.   
  
“I’d point again if I didn’t know that my guidance would be predictably unhelpful. So try looking around yourself and you’ll find the memory’s owner,” Lawscale advised.   
  
“How can you be self-deprecating and condescending in the same breath?” Karkat said, but he took her advice and looked away from the children into the rest of the ravine. He couldn’t see anyone, but there was a thin wire wiggling up one of the walls, like someone reeling in a fishing line. At the top, he squinted harder, and could see the zig-zag shape of Ampora horns. Then he noticed a forelock, now pale violet, bleaching with age.   
  
“He wasn’t fucking kidding,” Karkat said. “I mean, he couldn’t have been, since he did this for Rufioh and everything, but he _literally_ did this until he died. He spent a thousand sweeps… doing what the Chimeric asked him to.”

“That is correct. The Seafarer honed this skill for centuries, ensuring a steady stream of recruits for these youthful, aimless renegades. They don’t know their role as radical social experiments. They just see playmates, and none are the wiser about the legacy of the one who led them out of culling.”  
  
When Karkat looked back to the children, already fading as the Seafarer again left the scene, he realized something. “Wait a fuck, they don’t grow up. There’s no adults here. Do they just kill you when you look too much like an adult?”

Lawscale laughed again. “A true Alternian would consider that a logical course of action. But no, there’s another avenue for them. Let me see if I can just…”  
  
She raised her arm and then twisted it a bit, like turning a light bulb in a socket, and the bubble around them shifted again. Karkat could see the same child they had followed in, but larger now, with deep red eyes and clothes that looked designed by a compulsive quilter and literal wigglers. They were sitting away from their former friends now, looking too large and lonely among the wigglers.   
  
Then, behind the troll, a bright white glow appeared, growing larger as it approached. A branch snapped and now the troll whipped around to see the newcomer. Karkat’s jaw hit the fucking floor.   
  
“I never appreciated how few shadows Beforus had until I saw the darkness of other social orders,” Lawscale said. “And those who lived in the shadows of our civilization were sure to come across each other. There was only so much space.”   
  
Glowing like a star, the radiant Benevole smiled gently at the now-grown troll and offered her hand. They regarded her with some fear but mostly awe, until they took her hand and started to walk away from their young friends without a single goodbye.   
  
“I learned first-hand that she had transformed into a rainbow drinker after death, and as a member of the undead, she never tried to return to her old life. But she found a new one, choosing to guide back to civilization wigglers who grew up, grew sick, or simply felt regret.”   
  
Karkat tried to wrap his head around this weird parallel life cycle of trolls growing up in the wilderness and then returning to society as adults. “And they could really just… go back?”   
  
“They needed remedial schoolfeeding and some social counseling for sure, but the Compasse’s system accommodated them. I only met a few of them before my end, but they always had a scent of something _wild_ in them. Like they could happily survive if the trappings of civilization crumbled around them.”   
  
He narrowed his eyes at Lawscale. “When you met your end? How did that happen?”   
  
“Boringly, in a recuperacoon,” she replied. “But if you want to know about that, then we should shift our focus from the renegades to the law enforcers.”   
  
“Okay. Which way to all that shit?”   
  
She laughed again, but shorter, and a little more forced. She started up walking again, following the Benevole, but the world around them flattened, and the overgrowth thinned into neat gardens, and a tall palace loomed over them, its spires twisty and irregular like fingers of coral. Lawscale kept walking through an enormous set of doors, through foyers and halls, until they reached a cavernous courtroom. Highbloods lined the sides of the rooms, silent as they watched the central throne. The Compasse sat, trident in her hand, face resolute and tense. It made Karkat miss Feferi’s bright and bubbly nature.   
  
“What’s going on?”   
  
“Sentencing day,” Lawscale said. “Now, if you excuse me, I have a role in this memory.”   
  
She stepped forward and seamlessly entered the scene before him, as if she had always been there. “Your Radiance, under provisions of the first statute of the First Judicial Act of the previous Age of Compassion, I request the opening of a case regarding treasonable offenses. I have compiled evidence for your consideration against two trolls convicted of this crime.”   
  
“Proceed, Vigilant,” the Compasse answered flatly. “Bring in the first accused.”   
  
Doors opened, and four guards entered, escorting a hulking purpleblood with a broken horn. Karkat backed away from the Mournful, his very blood shying away from Gamzee and all he had done, but the Mournful barely moved his feet enough to shuffle into the chamber, and Karkat’s reflexive fear dissolved. This Makara had lost the will to do anything, let alone hurt someone.   
  
His escort moved him to the center of the room and sat him before the Empress. She took a deep breath and spoke. “Mournful, you are accused of pedophilia, treason, terrorism, and murder. How do you plead?”   
  
The Mournful said nothing.   
  
“Your silence will be interpreted as guilt. You must speak if you wish to plead against these charges.”   
  
The Compasse waited for an agonizing amount of time before she turned to Lawscale. “Vigilant, please present your evidence.”   
  
“On the charge of pedophilia, the Mournful made a confession to the Grand Highblood three sweeps ago detailing his conciliatory involvement with his cullee, who was six sweeps at the time. On the charge of treason, we have confirmed evidence regarding the Mournful’s involvement in the distribution of seditious documents and in shielding trolls who sought to attack the Empire and the species. On the charge of terrorism, the Mournful is among the most clearly identified combatants in the Chimeric’s rebellion. And on the charge of murder, we apprehended the Mournful at the scene of an armed conflict near the corpse of a troll who has been identified… through blood-matching testing from the remains and the murder weapons… to be the Huntsman.”   
  
“Thank you, Vigilant. Is the accused still unwilling to respond?”   
  
She waited for the Mournful. Lawscale dropped her head as silence again filled the space. Karkat’s skin crawled waiting for someone, anyone, to make a noise.

_Why the fuck are they doing this? They know he won’t speak. Or is this for their sake, so they can pretend they gave him a chance?_

At long last, the Compasse spoke again. “Her Radiant Compassion decrees that this case will be resolved thus: the Mournful will serve a span terminal sentence in imperial prison. While you without doubt deserve greater punishment, since you serve no threat to the species anymore, we will resist the cruelty of your creed.”

She banged her trident again, and the guards removed the shambling Mournful from the courtblock, just as they had brought him in.   
  
“Now… bring in the second accused.” Lawscale spoke clearly, but couldn’t muster any more strength in her voice. A new set of guards appeared, with another troll between them.   
  
_Sollux!_   
  
The guards led Twinhorn to the same chair, and he at least moved willingly. He wouldn’t look at Lawscale, but he did meet the Empress’s eyes.   
  
“Twinhorn, you stand accused of threatening the mother grub, treason, collusion with terrorists, and murder. How do you plead?”   
  
“Guilty, your Radiance,” he answered.   
  
“You don’t sound like you feel guilty.”   
  
“With the greatest depths of respect I can muster, I will have plenty of time to feel guilty for all I’ve done later.”   
  
The Compasse paused for another moment, but proceeded. “Vigilant, please present your evidence.”   
  
“Testimony of the accused,” Lawscale recited. “That he had made contact with the Chimeric on multiple occasions over the sweeps… and actively collaborated with him to infiltrate the brooding caverns. Chat logs have been recovered from a private encrypted server within the API that corroborate this. He then falsified public records and forged blood signatures to assist in a cavebreak and directly contributed to the ability to threaten the mother grub. Then, following the attack, he enlisted the Huntsman to make an unsanctioned show of force against the rebel militants, which eventually led to the death of the Huntsman and for him to personally murder Guardian Trueshot, Mistress Benevole, and the Chimeric.”   
  
“Has the Vigilant represented your testimony accurately, Twinhorn?” the Compasse asked.   
  
“She has.”   
  
“Then answer me this—if you were allied with the Chimeric, why did you kill him and two innocents?”   
  
Twinhorn took a deep breath. “I thought the Chimeric would only recruit jadebloods out of the caverns and help them escape. When I heard that he had harmed the mother grub as well, I knew I needed to end him.”   
  
“So do you really plead guilty to the charge of threatening the mother, if the Chimeric was the one who harmed her?”   
  
“I’m the damn fool who gave the Chimeric the means to harm her, so yes, that’s my fault too.”   
  
“And how do you explain the deaths of a Guardian and a Mistress?”   
  
“They were in my way. I had to end the Chimeric, and they were protecting him.”   
  
“They would have seen him sitting where you are, sentenced for his crimes.”   
  
“…Then I wasn’t thinking straight. I was just… wrecked by grief,” Twinhorn said evenly. “I thought death was the only option for him, so I killed anyone else in my way.”   
  
The Compasse glanced at Lawscale, who had yet to raise her face. Then she looked back to Twinhorn.   
  
“Her Radiant Compassion decrees that this case will be resolved thus: Twinhorn will serve a span terminal sentence in imperial prison. Your impulses render you unfit to serve trollkind, and you must face the consequences of your actions.”   
  
Twinhorn nodded as the Compasse banged her trident again, the cue for guards to lead the criminal away. Karkat watched him leave, but when he was gone, turned back to Lawscale, standing still, like if she moved a muscle she would crack.   
  
“Justice has been served, duly and equitably,” the Compasse announced to the hall. The moment felt right for some sort of speech, but that was all she said. She let one sentence do the job of a hundred.   
  
Then Lawscale, at long last, raised her head. “Your Radiance, I am… thankful… for my chance to deliver that justice. But as we discussed previously, I would like to submit my resignation, effective immediately.”   
  
“Believe me, Vigilant, I know the pain you feel, to see one you had culled fall so far, but—”   
  
“You don’t understand,” Lawscale interrupted her. “I have lost _everything_ in this war. Including things… I never thought were mine to lose. Whatever you next ask of me, I will not be able to give it. Please accept my resignation before you see me in that cursed chair, accused of actions in contempt of your authority.”   
  
The Compasse hesitated, before she nodded. “Thank you for your service, Vigilant. May you find peace in retirement.”   
  
Lawscale turned away and walked past Karkat toward the exit to the chamber. As she passed, he saw her reach up for her glasses, and then she dropped them to the ground. The lenses cracked on the stone floor.   
  
_What the fuck did she just show me?_ Karkat followed in her brisk footsteps. _Their self-righteous obsession with fairness just hurt everyone even more._ _  
_   
Karkat could see shadows of trolls in hallways reacting to Lawscale’s march, most with shock and horror, but none stopped her, too stunned to move. He wanted to see her expression, but her long legs kept him from easily catching up. Was Terezi destined to get this tall? They would all have the chance to get taller if they made it to the new universe, wouldn’t they? After a lifespan’s worth of suffering, what would growing up even feel like?   
  
Determined, Karkat finally decided to dash forward, overtaking Lawscale and then looking back at her. He could see her ravaged red eyes, resignation on her brow, and a few tears leaking down as she blinked. And Karkat remembered a different Terezi’s tears, from another Karkat’s timeline, where she had recovered her sight but lost everything else.   
  
As Lawscale passed him, oblivious to his presence, Karkat reached out and grabbed her wrist. She walked a step too far and tugged, but when she felt the pressure, she stopped and turned to him.   
  
“This is just a memory,” he told her. “You can… let it go.”   
  
Lawscale had no sight, but Karkat felt eerily like she was staring at him. She blinked, twice, and on the third time her eyes changed from red to white. She used her free arm to dust her shoulders a little, and then conjured a new pair of red shades to fix on her face.   
  
“Thank you… That event is functionally over, so we really should… stay on task.”   
  
“Look, are you… okay?” Fuck, how was he supposed to do this, he couldn’t even ask this question to Terezi and get a straight answer, why would he expect one from Lawscale? “I know you’re an ancient ghost and there’s really not anything I can do to help, but… I have to ask.”   
  
She smiled at Karkat, small and a little strained. “I will be fine. Just… the Chimeric isn’t the only one searching for a precious moirail. It wears on one’s soul to be alone for so long. But that is all I want to say on that exact topic. There’s one more scene to show, and a few loose ends to tie up.”   
  
Karkat wanted to ask more, but figured it would be a losing battle. “What kind of loose ends?”   
  
Lawscale started walking again, still out of the palace, until they found the exterior wall and started to trace its perimeter. On the way, she explained further, “I was eventually halted by employees of the amphibiortress, and placed in culling myself. The Compasse did her best to allow me more freedoms than usually afforded to one of my disability, but there was only so much she could do.”   
  
“She’s an all-powerful Empress, so I find that a little hard to believe,” Karkat said.   
  
“She does not rule alone. The entire planet felt scalded by the Chimeric’s actions. His philosophy and the terror it wrought were inseparable, and even her own proposals for culling reform were met with opposition. She eventually found it necessary to shift blame for the rebellion as a whole off of the shoulders of the scarletblood and onto the seadweller Betrayer, just to make it easier to ask for warmblooded voices at the table. My span didn’t last long enough to see the final results of that strategy, but I suppose the young heroes of our planet might know more on that topic.”   
  
“Aranea would for sure,” Karkat said. “So what was the rest of your life like?”   
  
“Boring,” Lawscale answered. “And lonely. I scoured every source I could for information about the survivors of the rebellion. I knew the Benevole was alive, but I couldn’t explain how. And the Betrayer would appear yet always escape, like mist. I think I developed into quite a conspiracy nut by the end, but… trying to uncover the truth was the only thing that helped me feel close to people I once cherished.”   
  
Lawscale hadn’t asked who Aranea was, but when she mentioned searching, Karkat realized there was someone he had forgotten about. “What about Prospera? What happened to her?”   
  
She walked in silence for a moment. “I don’t know. She died, or she lived so quietly no one heard from her again. I never found any evidence of her existence after that night.”   
  
Karkat looked at the ground beneath their feet, a hardy species of grass mixing with sand as they approached a beach. “You know, Vriska and Terezi are moirails now. If that helps you feel better.”   
  
“...I feel better knowing that you want me to feel better,” the ghost answered. “Sometimes, that’s enough.”   
  
“Really? It sounds pretty pathetic.”   
  
“Well, even someone who has given up all hope can still find the will to live if one person cares for them.”   
  
“Is that the memory we’re heading toward?”   
  
“No—that isn’t a memory I think you’re interested in seeing, but the Mournful and Twinhorn had cells near each other, by some twist of circumstance. Twinhorn passed at the natural end of his span after decades imprisoned, and the Mournful passed a day after, centuries before the end of a purpleblood’s natural lifespan. It was as if Twinhorn’s presence was the only thing sustaining him.”   
  
“He said something kind of like that,” Karkat tried to recall the exact words, but he knew he had first heard the name ‘Twinhorn’ from the Mournful. _Twinhorn was over there, always talking until he stopped… then I fell asleep…_   
  
“There’s one more reunion that I think will be of interest to you,” Lawscale said, and they stepped around a corner.   
  
They were still at the palace, but now in an area where the architecture sloped down into a lagoon. The Compasse was there again, looking exactly the same as she had in the courtblock, but now kneeling in the shallows and staring up at the sky as flame-bright meteors descended on the planet. Her shoulders shook and fuchsia tears dripped off her face and into the water. The Reckoning was here and she could do nothing.   
  
Karkat didn’t feel like staring at more misery, so he looked around the Compasse and picked out a figure in a long, dark robe and hood approaching with deliberate steps. A gnarled hand clutched a staff, which the figure leaned on heavily. It reached the edge of the water, then stepped into it, slowed even further by the weight now seeping into the robe. Eventually, the figure drew close enough to the Compasse to get her attention, and she turned to face this intruder. They stared in silence until the figure raised a hand and lowered the hood.   
  
Frail and ancient, the Seafarer looked to his former moirail—one eye bloodshot, the other clouded by cataracts—and then knelt down into the water, the old joints in his body shaking. For a minute, the Compasse just stared at him, hurt and anger in her tearful eyes, before she reached out, wrapped her arms around him, and clung to his chest as meteors continued to fall. He closed his eyes and returned her embrace as best he could, fingers threaded in her cascade of hair.   
  
“So she just… forgave him?” Karkat asked.   
  
“I don’t know what she was feeling just then,” Lawscale answered. “My theory is that she needed at least a small bit of sweetness to face the bitter end.”   
  
“Then this is a fucking shitty ending!” Karkat turned to Lawscale. “Beforus had problems, and you guys fought, but it was a fine planet and plenty of assholes lived pretty good lives there! And people who deserved to live good lives died and suffered over nothing because the dancestors were always going to destroy the planet and then Scratch the entire fucking universe! So sure, you filled in the gaps, but all it proves is that everything you do is pointless and there’s no way to fight what’s going to happen to you! Might as well give everyone a big hug and wait to get steamrolled by infinite oblivion, right?! Is that the conclusion you wanted me to draw!?”   
  
Lawscale knelt down, her face level with Karkat’s again. “Not at all. Because the tale didn’t end here. Beforus is just the closest thing we have to a starting line for this circuitous story, and hope has been passed further and further forward. Beforus begat Alternia, which begat Earth, and now a second Scratch has created a new Earth. The baton passes on. It’s been passed to you.”   
  
“But what if… Fuck,” Karkat couldn’t look her in the face. “I’m not like the Chimeric… what if I can’t hold it?”   
  
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to hold it alone.”   
  
Whatever he wanted to say to that never got said, because he heard Aradia’s voice. “Karkat! And wow, so you were the ally?” She fluttered to the ground and offered her hand to the ghost of the Vigilant Lawscale. “My name is Aradia, and it’s nice to meet you.”   
  
“The young, alternate Assassin,” Lawscale said, meeting the handshake. “An honor.”   
  
“I think my alternate self killed more people on Beforus than I ever did on Alternia,” Aradia said. “I killed one person total, who deserved it, and she didn’t even stay dead!”   
  
“Hang on,” Karkat interrupted. “What are you even doing here?”   
  
“I was looking for you! We finished up with the final fight and we need you back now, both to fulfill a promise and because everyone really misses you.”   
  
Lawscale stood and patted Karkat’s back this time, more jovial than comforting. “Then I suppose my time with you has come to a close, Karkat. I think it would do you good to speak to your alternate self.”   
  
“Well, Terezi is probably there too, and you could speak with her,” Aradia suggested.   
  
“Another time, when there’s less competition for attention. I would hate to steal my accomplice’s thunder. Let me guess, he’s set up a salon to engage in a dialogue?”   
  
“That was the plan when I left.”   
  
“Of course he has.”   
  
“But what the fuck am I supposed to say to him? ‘Sorry you died and I’m the latest Vantas to be a worthless fuckup?’”   
  
“You don’t have to say a word. You could just listen,” Lawscale advised. “But, if you don’t like what you hear, you can make him shut up. He has no power in this conversation.”   
  
With that, Lawscale stepped away, waved to Aradia, and blew a kiss to Karkat. A fucking kiss, what the hell, why was she so weird?! And there was so much for him to think about, how the past had bled into the present for the present to fade back into the past, and the baton passing forward through four instances of two universes…   
  
“Are you ready?” Aradia asked him.   
  
“No, but we should go anyway. It’s not going to get better by waiting.”


	75. Court of the Chimeric

‘Downstairs’ appeared to be rapidly deteriorating from Kanaya’s point of view. As Equius left and the other trolls slipped out of their memory roles, the center proved unable to hold detail on the hive of Guardian Trueshot, so they ended up unable to find anything that qualified as a formal gathering space for provision consumption.

“Where to now, smart guy?” Vriska asked.

“Someplace else, of course. Maybe out of doors, with remembered fresh air,” the Chimeric said.  

“Will that make it easier for the others to find us?” Dave asked.

“It’ll have about the same effect as crossing our fingers, but it wouldn’t hurt,” Rose explained.

Kanaya didn’t have much to contribute to the discussion of where they should go, so she just watched the ancestral ghost as he strode forward toward whatever the dreambubbles brought next. The Chimeric moved strangely, in Kanaya’s opinion. He lacked the crunched-up, grouchy demeanor she so inextricably associated with Karkat. And the Chimeric’s approach to leading the way felt all too casual, like he had some sort of expectation all would fall in line. Karkat had to work so very hard to be taken seriously as a leader, and his every motion came with urgency and no assumption people would follow just because he wanted them to. And sure, that led to blunders and mistakes on the scale of a cancerous universe, but Kanaya found herself respecting that approach far more than the Chimeric’s snobbish elitism.

Or maybe she was still bitter over being deceived in the first place.

While she steamed at the Chimeric and side-eyed him, Kanaya felt Rose take her hand. “Oh?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve decided to hold my hand now.”

“Is now a bad time?”

“It’s a fine time, I’m just wondering why.”

“I think our matespritship is sufficient reason, isn’t it?” Rose said, but Kanaya could feel another conclusion waiting to be drawn. Then she remembered that, as concerned as she was about Karkat, Rose had also just recently watched Kanaya die. So Kanaya held her hand back.

As they traveled along, some of the ghosts Aradia and the others had recruited managed to find their way to the party. Damara and Porrim arrived first, Porrim staying back while Damara greeted the Chimeric. To Kanaya’s surprise, they spoke for a minute in the Eastern Beforan dialect, and the Chimeric sounded surprisingly fluent.

" _Omae no seishun nikki wo isan toshite moratta no, watashi no senzo ni watashita kara ne._ " Damara smiled and cupped her cheeks, fingers fanned a little bit. " _Sono nekketsu de koufun shitekita yo._ "

" _Watashi wo touwaku saseyou to shite kimashita ne. Watashi no ansatsusha no soshin mo kakawaru nante, souzou mo shimasen deshita. Watashi ga kaita kotoba wa kojinteki na hanashi no tsumori deshita ga._ "

" _Omae, jibun no 'seisho' tte yondeta kedo._ "

" _Maa, sou desu ne, warukatta desu. Shikashi, nikki ha kaesenai deshou ka?_ "

" _Gomen, ikiteiru myuutanto wa tomodachi no minna de kyouyuu shiteirun da yo. Aitsu ni kiite mite, omae no ban ga kuru kamoshirenai_."

" _Yare yare…_ "

“How long have you been bilingual?” Porrim asked.

“I believe polyglot is the more appropriate term. I always found it most effective to serve the needs of diverse groups if you knew how to speak their language, so I studied as many as I could in my youth.”

She smiled. “That’s a refreshing perspective.”

Dave chimed in, “Kankri speaks only one language, overly-cerebral bullshit-ese. Not sure if that’s in your databanks.”

“I must admit that it is. And from his reputation so far, I feel it’s imperative I speak with him, but doing so could last eternity. I’d like to get my affairs in order first.”

“I kind of learned to stop bothering,” Porrim said. “Especially since he’ll refuse to take into account any perspective not personally interesting to him.”

“For example?”

“His crusade is culling culture and its myriad of microaggressions, while I’d pay top boondollar to have him seriously discuss gender roles with me, even once.”

The Chimeric blinked at Porrim in open confusion. “How… does he not see those topics as intrinsically related? When culling is a service demanded of highbloods, who are largely male, by an Empress who is female, there is ample space for misogyny to take root.”

Now it was Porrim’s turn to blink. “…Are you doing anything after this?”

“I do have plans, but I appreciate the invitation. I’d be happy to collaborate with you.”

“That’s what she said,” Dave muttered loud enough for a few people to hear.

“Really, Dave?” Rose answered him. “Is that _really_ what she said? It wouldn't make any sense for her to say such a thing.”

“Porrim isn’t the one who said it either,” Kanaya corrected. “Or are you referring to a different ‘she’ who said that same thing?”

“Kanaya, I promise I will explain the joke later, but all you need to know is right now is that Dave has incurred another strike against his innuendo license.”

“You think I even have an innuendo license? I play by no one’s rules, like a true renegade. Wanted for reckless and unlicensed use of innuendo, Dave Strider, outlaw of swag. Got a bounty on my head big enough to put your kids through cool college, or ‘coolege,’ which is really the more valuable overpriced education in the first place.”

As Dave and Rose bickered their way off topic from the actual commnet of offense, Kanaya re-focused on where the hell they were going. The scenery had evolved a few times, from things Kanaya recognized to things she did not, until it seemed to settle into a memory of a wharf, with short hives and shops to one side and rows of masted ships on the other.

“This is one of mine!” the Chimeric declared. “Right at the very start, before any of this became the mess it would become! I’ll give it another few minutes for a few more ghosts, and then we’ll be boarding that ship there.”

He pointed to one of the lighter frigates, which Kanaya couldn’t tell if she was supposed to find familiar, but luckily Vriska did.

“That’s the _Lux Volans_! My beautiful boat!” she crowed, before turning to the Chimeric. “You know, the Seafarer’s ghost is in these dreambubbles, and he’s an asshole.”

“He is in death as in life, but assholes can still be cherished friends. What specifically did he do to offend you?”

Vriska began recounting their meeting with the Seafarer and his hemoist cheating garbage personality, while Kanaya turned to Dave.

“So, you knew this was the Chimeric the whole time,” she reminded him.

“Basically?”

“Why did you not tell the rest of us?”

“I dunno, I guess I didn’t want to rock the boat? Vriska had this whole battle plan down and I didn’t wanna invoke her wrath or make her change anything or… stuff.”

This time, Rose added a raised eyebrow to the equation. “Stuff? How descriptive.”

“Shut up. Look, Karkat was already worried that we’re all upset that we’re settling for scrawny shouty Vantas instead of Rugged Hottie Rebel Head over there so I didn’t want him feel worse.”

“So instead you replaced him with the very figure he may feel inadequacy toward without his knowledge or consent?”

“…Okay, yeah, I fucked up.”

“And you called the Chimeric ‘Rugged Hottie Rebel Head.’”

“What? No I didn’t.”

“We both heard you.”

Porrim drifted a bit closer. “I wouldn’t give him too hard a time about it. The opinion that the Chimeric his hot just means he has eyes.” She smiled and leaned on Dave’s shoulder. “It’s not a problem, remember?”

“No, but it _is_ a problem when you lose control of your own fucking dialogue and spurt random shit about how hot people are when that’s the worst thing I could be doing—”

“This sounds like something you’re just going to need to learn through exposure conditioning via intense ridicule every single time you speak inappropriately about a person’s physical appearance,” Rose advised.

“Fuck no, how about I just shut my fucking mouth and we pretend I never started talking!?”

“I would be satisfied with that,” Rose said.

“And I will be satisfied when you apologize to Karkat for going behind his back,” Kanaya added.

Mouth pressed shut in a hard line, Dave gave Kanaya a thumbs-up.

So Kanaya turned her attention back toward the Scourge Sisters and Chimeric and realized another Serket had been added to the mix: Aranea, with a rainbow quilt made out of knitted squares wrapped tight around her shoulders like a shawl. She looked shy, but encouraged, like maybe Kanaya had missed some kind of emotionally sensitive conversation about that weird guilt complex she was carrying around and its possible influence on whether she had a right to be here. Or whatever.

But there was something equally interesting approaching them from another side of the docks: Meulin holding Kurloz’s hand, pulling him after her as she bounded toward the group. Porrim waved at Meulin, and she waved back, but then Kurloz caught sight of who was in this group and dug his heels into the ground. Meulin let go of his hand for them to sign at each other, the gestures looked very heated.

“They’re hearing-impaired?” Kanaya heard the Chimeric ask Aranea.

“Meulin is deaf, and Kurloz is mute,” Aranea answered. “There’s an interesting story there—”

“If I can’t make them tell me themselves, I’ll definitely ask you for it,” the Chimeric said, stepping forward and raising his voice. “Oi, motherfucker! We’ve got plans to shoot the wicked motherfucking shit on some bitchtitty barge! Can you share some ruckus with us?”

Dave muttered to himself, “Oh my god, he speaks juggalo, I take back calling him hot.”

Kurloz heard the Chimeric, and then raised both his middle fingers while he snarled as big as his stitches would allow. Then he bolted in the opposite direction and left Meulin alone. Rather than chase him, she sadly shuffled closer to the group, until the Chimeric made a few shapes with his own hands and they started up a series of gestures together. It still stirred something strange in Kanaya’s gastric sack to see someone like Karkat so effortlessly switching between people’s special needs, easily as she changed clothes.

When his conversation with Meulin reached a stopping point, the Chimeric decided, “This seems like long enough spent waiting. Let’s go aboard and get comfortable.”

“Soooooooo, while we’re going aboard here, the one thing you didn’t really go into his how you ended up prostrating yourself before the magnificent Marquise Prospera,” Vriska asked. “And how she engineered this escape of yours.”

“That was the end result of some blackmail in force on the Mirthful. Certain parties around him had discovered his feelings when I was growing up, and wanted to use them for their own gain. He had an arrangement with Prospera to enter her debt if she helped him, but she betrayed him at the last moment and felt pity enough to offer a favor to him instead. For passage on this ship, we cashed it.”

“Why did Prospera betray him?” Aranea asked.

“Out of desperation to see her matesprit, the Benevole.”

Kanaya covered her eyes and Vriska cleared her throat. “Nice, okay, thanks for answering that question! Who’s next?”

“I am,” Porrim said. “Because I want to hear a little more about my ancestor, thank you very much.”

“Certainly.” The ghosts and dreamers found themselves on the deck, and the Chimeric took a comfortable perch on one of the supplies crates, like he had led conversations in this exact location many times before. “She’s the other half of how we made it this far.”

“So she was a rebel, too?”

“No, not at all. She was a healer, first and foremost. The Benevole saved my moirail’s life after his excommunication, and provided a disguise to me for safe travels. She had no involvement in my crusade outside of that. Even when she was giving medical care to me, I knew she only wanted me to live so I could atone for my violation of the caverns.”

As everyone took up seats in a loose circle around the Chimeric, the scene around the _Lux Volans_ started to shift. Sails dropped from masts and rigging snapped tight, but Kanaya sensed no physical movement of the boat. The scenery simply changed as the still boat drifted into the ocean first, and then onto waves of amber sands from LOSAZ.

“And… why was your violation in the caverns necessary?” Aranea ventured. “For once, I’m not the most informed person in the room on this subject, but I had the impression your story is intertwined with the story of Sgrub.”

“I didn’t know it would be called Sgrub, or even that its true form would be a game, but I knew the wigglers of the apocalypse would need a special code to escape the universe. The code had been broken and scattered around the planet, with the last piece I needed resting in the brooding caverns. I put it back together at the command of the First Guardian, with some alterations made. I believed at the time I was strengthening the code.”

“You created a tumor,” Rose told him flatly.

“A benign one, since Meenah was able to use it to kill us all before the Scratch and preserve our alpha timeline selves in the dreambubbles,” Aranea rushed to explain. “Or benign is the wrong word since it was still an instrument of death… maybe we should call it beneficial?”

“I simply had no concept of what the game was going to actually do,” the Chimeric admitted. “It was definitely frustrating in my life, to try and convince others to do things I felt with certainty were correct when I had no explanation for why they were necessary.” He nodded to Meulin and signed something that made her smile wider. “But whenever my certainty waned, I just remembered the horrors waiting for all of you and my own determination to do something about it.”

“I don’t think any one troll’s actions would have made Sgrub any easier for us,” Porrim said. “Most of us were god-awful at the game, and even our good players could only last so long. Then add to that some messy adolescence and personal crises intersecting at the worst possible times and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. And none of that is anything you could have edited out of our game’s code.”

“I suppose that’s what the rebellion was supposed to do as well. Create an environment where you would be raised believing in yourselves and your own powers.”

“What, like Alternia?” Terezi piped up. “That’s something of an overcorrection, Mr. Eldercherry.”

“Eldercherry?” The Chimeric looked caught between bemused and flattered.

“Just saying, what was it precisely that made you decide that violent opposition was the only way? Especially when it seemed like you had such excellent role models in social reform…”

The Chimeric sighed and muttered to Damara, “ _Hontou ni minna de kyouyuu shita ne,_ " before switching languages again. “I had been fighting in that system for sweeps already, and I knew that simply taking my post in the social order wouldn’t bring about any kind of meaningful change—besides, I knew I had to find the pieces of the code, and some of those were in places where even a Guardian would never be allowed. Working within the system was never an option.”

“Well, why did you have to be the one to personally collect all of them? A Guardian could have made friends and used their authority to get what he needed.”

“Are you sincerely asking about my actions taken, or are you trying to find the holes in my logic where I had a peaceful path available to me and failed to choose it? Do I need to spend time chronicling the hours of my life, and the indeterminate sweeps of my death, where I tried to find that exact deviation myself?”

The Chimeric folded his arms and tilted his head a little, and Kanaya locked eyes with Porrim in the shared recognition that Kankri did exactly the same pose when he was feeling particularly self-righteous.

“I was thinking a little of both, but I understand if that’s a touchy subject,” Terezi continued. “We just have something of a primary source we’ve been working from, and it didn’t cover any of your thoughts after you made a big scene in front of the Compasse.”

“I appreciate your understanding. But if I recall the chain of events properly, your Karkat first received that ‘primary source,’ before sharing it with the rest of the crew? Has he passed judgment on my actions, given he is most likely to understand my choices?”

“Yeah, about that,” Vriska spoke up this time. “Yes, that journal did end up in Karkat’s hands, and reading through it a few times is one of the things that convinced him that scurrying around in the air vents and pale-flirting with a mentally unhinged clown was the right thing to do. I’m already suuuuuuuuper bored with arguing over whether the Mournful was a good guy or a bad guy or just a guy, but our Makara is pretty explicitly the worst guy. When they were pale, Gamzee isolated Karkat from the rest of us and physically attacked him at least once, which is once too many.”

The Chimeric said nothing, and as far as Kanaya could tell from his empty white eyes, he was watching Vriska closely.

“I’m sure that Karkat will show you the door to the bubble you want, either on his own or with a little persuading, but you should probably have some fair warning: your ‘serendipity’ never worked out for him, and your adolescent ramblings drove him into the claws of someone who abused him.” Vriska folded her own arms and leaned back. “Just in case you wanted to do something about it, like draft up an apology.”

_Vriska, I never realized you cared._

He nodded, then chose his next words carefully. “I am absolutely willing and able to accept responsibility for… what happened. But I think further discussion of this topic should not happen in a public forum. Are we in agreement?”

“We can be.”

“Excellent. And I do appreciate your warning. It definitely gives me time to—”

A shrieking whistle sound cut through the air from somewhere slightly below the ship, cutting the Chimeric off. Porrim groaned and pressed her hands against her face while Damara said something in a sing-song tone.

“ _Arama~ Fueyarō ni mitsukaretan da~_ ”

“Excuse me?! Can someone lower a rope or something? I would prefer to use a sanctioned climbing implement to board!”

“Hey, I have an idea, what if we just… didn’t?” Vriska proposed, but Rose had already stood up.

“If we don’t let him on, he’ll blow that god-awful whistle again,” Rose explained, before finding a spool of rope and wooden struts curled up at the edge of the boat and tossing it over for him. A few moments later, Kankri Vantas arrived, took a moment to adjust his sweater, and then stepped toward the circle.

“I’d like to first apologize for the suddenness of my arrival, but when I heard that a meeting such as this had convened, I knew I had to take action against this triggering event of unprecedented proportions. I am definitely aware that the appearance of a ghostly ancestor is very rare, but we should be mindful to the privilege present in engaging in advanced discourse and how not everyone is fully prepared to handle that without being majorly triggered.”

“So what are you saying?”

“This meeting is canceled, effective immediately. Everyone needs to leave.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” the Chimeric told him. “On what authority?”

Kankri puffed up his chest. “On the authority of someone who has spent a few eons making a thorough analysis of privilege and oppression and its various manifestations! So shoo with you. We’ll find you again when everyone is properly prepared, emotionally and intellectually, to engage in this kind of discourse. And please precede foul language with a trigger warning, for future reference.”

“Kanny, can you chill? For once in your fucking afterlife?!” Porrim pleaded with an edge of exasperation. “We’re just having a conversation, filling in gaps and talking about the big picture! No one is triggered!”

“Don’t call me Kanny, and I’m very disappointed in you for not recognizing that the Chimeric is an inherently triggering person on a number of levels, including but certainly not limited to quadrant abuse, violence, culling culture and culling abuse, so much hate speech, hateful actions, general hemophobia—”

“It’s okay for you to say that those are _your_ triggers,” the Chimeric interrupted. “You don’t have to argue on the behalf of a hypothetical offended person if you want us to not talk about those topics in your presence.”

Kankri rounded on the Chimeric and blew his whistle again, loud enough to make Kanaya’s ears sore while the force of his breath fluffed the Chimeric’s hair.

“ _…Fueyarō, deshita kke?_ ” the Chimeric muttered when the sound ended.

“And that’s another triggering thing, for you to talk in a language that people can’t understand! It’s oppressive and flaunts your communicative privilege in an extremely problematic way, and the onus really should be on you to understand which of your actions are triggering and to stop them immediately—”

“This isn’t a discourse, this is a dictatorship!” The Chimeric stood up to face Kankri directly. “You want to talk about discourse?! Why don’t we bring up a simple example in gender discrimination.”

“I can’t believe this, just because you spoke with Porrim first you were swayed by her hypothetical oppression rhetoric?!”

“Hypothetical my ass! When you take create a system like mandatory culling across all blood castes and give that system a female figurehead in the form of the tyrian Empress, the work of culling is going to be inherently feminized! And then what do you get when the castes with the greatest responsibility to participate in that system are dominated by male figures? You have males shrugging off the duty to pull their weight in the mistaken assumption that, by identifying as a gender other than female, they are inherently unsuited to the act of culling in the first place. So then greater culling burdens fall onto females who are expected to be good cullers by merely sharing a gender with the Empress, and this drives them away from the leadership positions necessary to ensure their voices are heard in debates of culling standards—for example, the Guardians were largely men, since it was unreasonable for women already carrying more intense culling assignments to complete theses in their spare time. Then you travel further down the line, to the warmbloods looking to leaders such as the Guardians, and they start to get the idea that, while the Empress governs the species, men are best suited to leadership, when in actuality they aren’t any more able—they’re just more common and more free! You don’t do yourself or your discourse any favors by trying to remove gender because it won’t fit your precious narrative. That’s not how this fucking _works_ ! So if you still think gender roles are irrelevant to the advancement of awareness of problematic culling culture, then you need to _check your bullshit_!”

Ancestor and descendant stared at each other, the Chimeric holding firm as Kankri floundered to find something to say next, and others in the circle reacted. Damara chuckled ominously, Porrim applauded slowly with a look of rapturous joy, and Dave asked, “Do you need a mic to drop? I think this calls for a mic drop.”

“No, that’s alright,” the Chimeric said, returning to his seat and leaving Kankri standing in the center. “A mic drop means the conversation is over, and I think continuing it would be advantageous to the both of us. Esteemed descendant, I feel you have been robbed of the opportunity to learn to listen and you jumped straight to learning to speak. ”

With no one else willing to move the still-stunned Kankri, Porrim reached into the center of the circle and pulled him out of it, guiding him to sit at her side. He looked short-circuited and kind of on the verge of tears, while Porrim smiled with too much relief to look smug.

“Okay, I have to admit, that was pretty cool,” Terezi said with a little smile. “Did you often need to employ smackdowns like that?”

“They usually weren’t effective on Beforus. A warmblood attempting to put an end to discussion, even with a magnificent rhetorical finish, could often be discounted as being short-sighted and in need of counseling. I had to learn other methods of argumentation.”

“I have a question,” Aranea said, raising one hand and using the other to keep her blanket tight around her shoulders. “And it’s actually more of a topic of discussion, but do you think there are elements of modern Beforus that were improved upon, either because of your actions or in spite of them? I guess, I’d want to speak with you about whether the way things were reflect the way things are now.”

“An excellent topic—any particular point where you’d like to begin?”

Dave muttered to himself. “Oh my god, this is about to be a slightly less batshit insane Kankri sermon, isn’t it?”

“We _are_ speaking to the ancestor of one Kankri Vantas,” Rose answered him. “If this topic is not to your liking the mature thing to do is wait it out and give everyone a turn. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Fuck you, you’re going to get a ton out of this, lore for your mega-book and shit.”

“I won’t get anything if you don’t hush up right now.”

“Fine. Kanaya,” Dave turned to her. “Can you get me out of this dream? I feel like there’s more productive shit to do back on the meteor.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, anything.”

“You still owe Karkat an apology, so I believe you should stay here.”

“Can’t I apologize to him on the meteor? Wake me up, I wake him up, I say sorry, everything’s cool.”

“We need Karkat to arrive here to fulfill the promise you made!” Kanaya insisted. “So you need to stay put.”

Rose’s fingers tapped on Kanaya’s hand. “Or maybe he won’t have to wait as long as expected.”

Kanaya looked back the other way to see Aradia touch down on the boat, greeting the dancestors and her friends, while the rope ladder thrown down for Kankri’s sake rattled with a new climber. She squeezed Rose’s hand before releasing it and crossing to the edge of the boat, seeing another familiar pair of nub horns below. When he drew closer, Kanaya lowered a hand for him, and he let her help him over the railing. As soon as he was standing on the deck, Kanaya hugged him.

“Uh,” he responded.

“I’m glad that you’re here and that you’re all right,” she told him. It was simple and true and for once she didn’t feel a need to over-explain it. Karkat hesitated a moment before he hugged back, warm and tight.

“Hey,” Dave had stood up to follow them to the railing too. When the hug finished, he asked, “Uh, how was… the stuff?”

“Stuff was good,” Karkat said. “Basically like a schoolfeeding excursion, but with an ancestor.”

“Another ancestor? Whose?”

“Terezi’s.”

“Fuck, you were with actual Lawscale? Actually?”

Karkat managed a little smile. “Yeah, it was pretty sick.”

“Shit, here I was about to apologize for keeping you in the dark and not telling you about the plan to have you go do other stuff instead of die in the past, which I’m still mega sorry about, but now I feel like you owe me an apology for the fact you had a life-changing field trip with Lawscale.”

“Dave, that’s not how apologies work,” Kanaya scolded.

“Don’t worry, I speak fluent Dave’s Bullshit by now,” Karkat corrected. “And it’s okay. I’m still trying to process everything, but I’m glad it went this way.”

“Speaking of languages, did you know the Chimeric speaks juggalo? And Troll Japanese? And you also missed an epic smackdown against Kankri, I didn’t really follow it because I don’t give a shit who’s right but the Chimeric definitely won that round. It was beautiful, look, he’s still in shock.”

Dave pointed to Kankri, but Karkat looked to the Chimeric. The ancestor was still focused on leading the discussion between the dancestors, Scourge Sisters, and now Aradia, but he hadn’t yet noticed Karkat’s presence. _Has he forgotten why he wanted Karkat here in the first place?_ Maybe they all shouldn’t be so quick to consider the Chimeric a better Kankri, if he could become wrapped up in his own rhetoric just as easily.

Frowning over something, Karkat stepped closer to the discussion and finally caught the Chimeric’s attention.

“Ah, Karkat of Alternia! Such an honor to finally meet you in the flesh. Please join us, we were having a cross-referential discussion of social conventions from our species’ two incarnations. While I had thought we’d be discussing Beforus alone, your friends have some fascinating stories of Alternia, and not all of them are unilaterally abhorrent. On the assumption that the resurrection of our species is possible in the universe created by the new session, we’re having a dialogue about what pieces of each culture we would see fit to preserve as useful guiding principles for the new planet to be. Which actually does remind me of something else—Kanaya, there’s something I’d like to offer you.”

“Offer?” Kanaya said. Was this some other physically preserved object that could be given from a ghost to a waking dreamer? How many of those existed in dreambubbles in the first place?

“As a show of support toward the resurrection of our species and some atonement for my violation in the caverns, I could use my own memories to help you connect with the ancestors of your bloodline. The Benevole of Beforus and Dolorosa of Alternia surely knew a lot about the proper care of a mother grub. This could help the resurrection greatly.”

Kanaya fiddled with the hem of her sleeve and tried to look anywhere but at the Chimeric. “I… suppose that’s a good idea, but until I can reproduce or encounter a new matriorb it won’t be very useful to learn anything about brooding cavern management.”

“You can’t put the knowledge into practice until you have a matriorb, but now is the perfect time to study, before the new mother grub is ready. Why should the path be needlessly difficult, when there are resources available to you?”

He was trying to be nice. She ought to just say ‘thank you’ for the nice favor and move on, and not think about the time spent moping on the meteor, chasing romance or fretting about others, that probably should have been spent in service of her ultimate goal to save her species—and she shouldn’t think about the odds that she could still fail after all this time and energy and faith and work, just say _thank you_ even as her stomach churned into painful knots reminiscent of the hope beam that had destroyed the first matriorb—

But before she could speak, Karkat shifted between her and the Chimeric. “Hey, nerdturd. Do you want to find your moirail or not?”

And the smug magnanimity dissolved off his face, replaced with a look like Karkat had punched him in the stomach. The Chimeric froze with his jaw dropped open and eyes wide. A noise escaped his mouth, too indistinct to be a word.

“Yeah, thought so,” Karkat said to himself, folding his arms. “We should get this over with. Are you coming or not?”

The ghost nodded, finally closing his mouth and standing up to inch closer to Karkat.

“Is the party over now?” Porrim asked.

" _Eeh, zannen da ne_."

“Well, we’ll all dream again sometime.” Terezi stood up and offered Karkat a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll see you back on the meteor, okay?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Karkat offered the rest of his friends some goodbye-waves—and patted Kanaya on the shoulder—before he hopped off the boat, followed by his spectral-ancestral self.

“So what do we do now?” Terezi said, giving a big stretch with her arms. “We’ve solved the riddle of Ancient Beforus, at least as much as we can reasonably say something like that gets solved.”

“We’ll just start doing more of what we should have been doing in the first place,” Vriska said. “And I can finally say we’re getting to the fun questions, like ‘how the fuck are we going to slow the meteor down’ and ‘how do we make sure none of these baddies touch a single gleam on the Mayor’s carapace?’”

“Oh fuck yes, I am on Mayor Defense Duty like nobody’s business,” Dave volunteered. “Nobody else has any business here, I have a de facto monopoly on this business, got total control of the marketplace in my back pocket…”

The Strider-rambles continued as Kanaya looked off the boat at the receding figures, one gray and one rainbow-splashed. Rose joined her at the railing soon, watching the same sight.

“Should we wake up now?” Kanaya said. “Now that everything’s been done?”

“My instinct says that Karkat should wake first, though I’m not sure when that’s going to happen or how to cause it. We can just take this opportunity to rest for a moment, and let the Vantas bloodline sort itself out.”

Kanaya leaned closer to Rose and wrapped her arm around her, content to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations are once again courtesy of my amazing beta MostlyHarmless:
> 
> \- Your spring-of-youth journal was part of my inheritance, since you gave it to my ancestor. You had such energetic feelings, and it gave me much pleasure!  
> \- You’re here to embarrass me, aren’t you? I never guessed that my assassin would have a descendant involved in this. Those words are supposed to be private.  
> \- You called it your testament.  
> \- Fine, that’s my fault. Though, would you return the journal to me?  
> \- Sorry, the living mutant has shared it with his friends. You might get your turn with it if you ask him.  
> \- Good grief…  
> \- Shared with many friends.  
> \- Uh-oh~ Whistle Fucker found us~  
> \- Whistle Fucker, huh?  
> \- Aw, too bad.
> 
> And we now have one more chapter yet to go!!! I can't believe this thing is gonna be finished. See you in four days! :D


	76. Enemies and Allies

Karkat’s satisfaction over making the Chimeric shut the fuck up wore off quickly, mostly because now he was subjected to the most uncomfortably awkward thing to ever happen to him… at least in recent memory.

His eagerness to tear down that pretentious ivory-hivestem bullshit left him with a travel companion with no interest in his surroundings or conversation. Sand gave way to Battlefield tile and then to regular lawnring grass without the Chimeric seeming to care. And compared to following Lawscale and trying to keep up with her long, adult legs, Karkat felt like his own short stride was holding the Chimeric back. His ancestral self would easily outpace him if he knew where to go, but he didn’t, so he just kept glancing at Karkat for his signal of where to go next. And even knowing that he could take the Chimeric to the Mournful, Karkat had no clue if he was doing it right. The last time he had found the prison, he just wandered around until the scenery started looking dour and gray.

_This is the worst escort mission ever._

There was so much to think about, between what happened to all of the Beforan ancestors, their failures, the dancestors’ failures, Karkat’s failure, what the fuck was supposed to happen next to make sure things stopped failing, and how even a ghost of an adult with supposedly all the answers was in reality just a palewhipped idiot sorely overdue for a wet, messy cry and a feelings jam. He could practically feel the need radiating off of the Chimeric like a disease.

And he could only get that comfort from someone who had hurt Karkat. That came with the metric fuckton of asterisks and exceptions detailing how the alternate ancestors and descendants both were and were not each other, but it also just left the situation looking so tangled Karkat didn’t care to make sense of it. What would be the point of trying now, when the number of living trolls was still only six and a half?

He looked up from his feet and realized something. “…Fuck.”

“What is it?” the Chimeric asked. “Are we lost? Is this the wrong way?”

“No, just... this is my old sgruburb.”

He looked up at his hive, which seemed almost small and boring after how much Terezi had altered and expanded it after she became his server player. And beyond it were all the other hives, similar in size with their extraterraneal landing slats and sunshield awnings, a dim sky with few stars above. He had been six when he left that place. Now he was nearly seven and a half. He supposed he could think about how much he had lost and learned since then, but the memory of his ignorant six-sweeper self just made him feel pissed off.

“I see,” the Chimeric commented. “Um. Your hive... looks nice.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I don’t mean it like that.” He looked from the hive to Karkat, and then back to the hive. “Maybe it’s less patronizing to call attention to the fact that you are the only Vantas to possess sign, hive, and lusus.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing whatsoever. But the ancestral Vantas incarnations never had lusii. My descendant never had one because no one thought another scarletblood would appear, and even he lived without a sign. So, of our quartet of crimson calamity, you have the strongest claim to… being normal.”

Was that a compliment? An insult? Something else? They stood on Karkat’s lawnring for a moment more before he asked, “Are you jealous?”

“I’d need to spend some time in self-reflection to determine that, but I don’t believe I’m jealous,” the Chimeric said. “Just curious. But if you’re willing, I’d rather press on.”

“Right, sorry.”

Karkat gritted his teeth and started walking again, one foot in front of the other. The neighborhood faded away as Karkat tried to focus his thoughts: _I want to go to the spooky depressing prison with the sad dead clown._ And though they kept walking and the dreambubbles changed, Karkat kept feeling like his wishes were being mocked. The bubbles produced almost every dark space it could muster: Derse, LOWAS, LOWAA, other pieces of Alternia, an unfamiliar planet covered in gray obelisks with multicolored balloons in the distance, but no Beforus. No prison.

After a few more changes of scenery, the Chimeric asked, “Is something the matter?”

“Don’t get impatient on me.”

“I’ll admit to my own impatience, but you are starting to look intensely frustrated.”

“I’m _fine_. It’s these fucking bubbles, they won’t go where I want.”

“I thought you were the one the bubbles would allow to pass into this place. Why isn’t it working now?”

“It happened twice, okay!? And I am not in the mood for your pedantic logic! Maybe I’m not a shitty fucking wizard who can wave my bullshit wand and conjure the bubble up in an instant, but I am _still_ the only troll who can get you to your fucking precious cull-moi-sus, so if you want that to happen then you need to back the fuck off of my shit!”

The Chimeric took a literal step back, hands hovering at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. Karkat wanted to feel satisfied in one-upping his alternate self a second time, but he just felt cruel, like he had kicked an infant barkbeast.

_This is so fucked up. Every last piece of this is so fucked up._

“Is it…” the Chimeric ventured to speak again. “That is, do you think… you might not _want_ to bring me there?”

“Of course I want to, because I’m trying to.”

“It would mean drawing closer to the alternate incarnation of someone who hurt you.”

“Who told you about that?” Karkat demanded.

The Chimeric held up his hand, placating. “It was Vriska Serket, very recently. She assigned blame to me for the way my journal caused you to seek out the alternate Mirthful. I definitely agree that my chronicle offered, well, interpretations of my moirail’s behavior which should not have been generalized. So I want to apologize, first and foremost.”

“What a load of behemoth leavings,” Karkat said. “Sure, reading your journal made me remember when Gamzee was my friend, so I thought it’d be a good idea to check on him. It’s not like you wrote a ‘care and keeping of murderclowns’ guide that I followed wrong. So it’s not your fault.”

“I… see,” the Chimeric answered. “I’m thankful for your absolvement.”

“Whatever. It’s a Vantas’ nature to take blame, but I don’t think I’m angry with you about this. It’s just everything else.”

“Like what?”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, fuck, that’s not right either. It’s me. I’m mad at me, again, perpetually, because that’s just what I fucking do. I hate myself and try to fight that by taking actions that invariably fail and then make me hate myself more.”

“I don’t see how you’ve failed in this situation.”

“Look, everyone was really pissed when they found out Gamzee hit me, and of course they were. And it’s getting easier to agree with them that it should not have fucking happened. But why did it happen? What did I fail to do that made him—”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“That position is not useful to this discussion. And frankly, I don’t think it’s productive to discuss it further from this point of view. He drew you in for the express purpose of keeping you in over your head. You did nothing wrong, plain and simple.”

Karkat stared at the Chimeric, and for the first time since they left the sandy ship, he saw certainty on his face. But something didn’t really add up. “Hang on, how can you just declare my Gamzee to be an irredeemable asshole when you’re the one double-dying to meet yours again?”

“I can try to explain my perspective from a different angle,” the Chimeric said. “Let me ask you: is loyalty a virtue?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that? Why is it riddle-nonsense hour now?”

“Your answer?”

“Fine, fuck! Yes, loyalty is a virtue.”

“Thank you. Now, what if someone is loyal to your enemy? Is it still a virtue?”

“It doesn’t stop being a virtue just because your enemies do it. But it makes them harder to fight.”

“So if someone is tremendously loyal, and their loyalty lies with your enemy, can they be your friend?”

“You’re not making sense. You think Gamzee did all the shit that he did to me for… tactical reasons?”

“You are the leader of the meteor, are you not?”

“Vriska’s the leader now.”

“...I see. But yes, I do believe that his behavior toward you was calculated for tactical advantage. Your enemies want your team to arrive in the new session scattered, confused, and alone. He acted as an agent in service of that goal.”

 _Scattered, confused, alone._ Karkat felt his spine shiver as he remembered long stretches of time in the vents feeling exactly that. “But who is he even loyal to? Jack? The Condesce?”

“That I don’t know,” the Chimeric said, and he added in a darker tone, “But I hope that person understands the treasure they have in their service.”

The two mutants stood together a little longer as Karkat tried to figure out what to say next. “I still don’t know exactly what you’re trying to say about Gamzee. Do you think we’re supposed to forgive him, or what?”

“I’m proposing a theory to explain behaviors,” the Chimeric said. “It will be up to you whether you forgive him or not. I won’t even recommend which I think you should do. But from what I can observe of their bloodline—from the Mirthful, to Kurloz, to the Highblood, to Gamzee—they are ruinously loyal.”

“Loyal?” Karkat repeated. _Ruinously?_

“If you are the one person in the universe who has won their loyalty, then you can command them like a lord. They will work for you, fight for you, die for you. If you are not their lord… there is no limit to what a member of that bloodline would do to someone their Lord had identified as an enemy.”

Even for someone who so fashioned himself a leader, the way the Chimeric said that word, _command_ , made Karkat’s stomach turn. Not even when he thought of himself as a natural leader did he want that. “I mean, you gotta have a recommendation for this, if you’re so confident in your little theory.”

“Fine. The best I can say is, maybe you can replace Gamzee’s lord through patience and pale affection. But as it stands now, he’s working against you, and the process could take sweeps you do not have to spare. If you are ever to forgive him, you can’t afford to until the battle is over.”

 _Finally, a straight fucking answer._ Karkat licked his dry lips and tried to think of something else to say, something inflammatory to hide his own feelings. “So… you think you’re the Mirthful’s lord, don’t you? Do you only want your moirail back so you can order him around again?”

“You read my journal; surely you understand how sincerely and recklessly pale I feel for him,” the Chimeric said.

His cheeks growing hot— _too much information, stop with all the information!_ —Karkat doubled down. “But then why is your Gamzee such an amazing fountain of perfect paleness and mine is some… cheating double-agent?”

“I just remember all the atrocities the Mirthful committed in my name. If he ever protested, it was simply to advise me, not contest me. I could have told him to do unthinkable things, and so long as he was certain it was my will… he would have done it.”

Karkat pressed his chin close to his sweater, tempted to tuck his chin inside it. But he didn’t want to show the Chimeric such a childish gesture. He tried to remember that dark and torturous span of time, and how… natural it felt. If Gamzee was really doing all of that on someone’s _orders_ , then he was a better liar than Karkat ever thought.

“So what makes someone… a lord? What do you have to do to win their psycho clown loyalty?”

“I have no idea. Everything I did to win the Mirthful’s devotion happened when I was too young to remember it. From my perspective, I opened my eyes and there he was, willing to defend me with all he had.”

“But what’s the common thread? If every Makara is operating on the same set of rules, then there has to be rules about what makes someone their lord.”

“The closest I have to debate you on that is the concept of doomed timelines, new to me in the dreambubbles,” the Chimeric said. “History unfolds in one and only one direction for us as ancestors. But when I was exposed to the rules of doomed timelines, I couldn’t help but question my own life. What if the Mirthful had been pushed into culling service before I ever hatched? What if he had culled Twinhorn? Or the Huntsman? Or even the Lodestar or Tameless? What if his superior, the Beforan Grand Highblood, won his loyalty? Or what if the Compasse herself did? What does it take to do that, exposure from a young age? Sweeps of commitment? Something else unfathomable and miraculous?”

The Chimeric grew quieter, but he wasn’t done. “These are fruitless exercises in theoretical histories, but they helped me find a different truth. I possess no inherently special trait which dictates that I am the only one who can inspire loyalty within the Mirthful. And that epiphany impressed on me how lucky I am that it was me after all. And even allowing for the reality of my conciliatory abuse, I wouldn’t alter a single moment. Because it made me who I am.”

 _What the fuck do I say to that?_ Karkat remembered a lot of things, so many fucking things. He remembered Terezi sharing her opinion that John didn’t need to fix Karkat while she sat on his back and forced him to listen. He remembered Kanaya from weeks ago stammering through her gratitude over his well-being, and then just recently, saying so with a hug. He remembered Dave’s ‘boombox’ and the sheer determination he felt to prove once and for all he cared for Karkat, scars and all.

How stupid was he, that he had to spend months in Gamzee’s Dark Carnival to realize how much real love existed outside of it?

“Are we done leaking our feelings everywhere like a malfunctioning woe hydrant? I’m still supposed to reunite you with your moirail,” Karkat said.

The Chimeric smiled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

They started to walk again, and this time Karkat felt easier about the pace, less like he was escorting some frightened fangbeast and more like he was going for a walk with his lusus: something larger and older than him, incomprehensible, but affectionately forgivable for its stupidity. He wondered if the Chimeric would be offended by a judgment like that and lecture him, so he kept it to himself.

Finally, the bubbles were playing along. Karkat found himself in a familiar area of LOCAS, then standing at the mouth of the cave he used as the entry point to the prison. He gave the Chimeric a small nod. The Chimeric stood up straighter and nodded back.

The hallway was full of cellblocks, just like before, endless dark pockets with iron bars and little space. Karkat really had no way of knowing when they’d come across the Mournful’s cell, so he just walked slowly and kept an eye out for it. The Chimeric’s face took on an expression of grief again, maybe as he realized how long his moirail had been in this pit of despair.

They arrived at the cell in silence. Karkat stood back and let the Chimeric get close. He stepped to the bars and gazed at the lump of troll, limp and useless and senseless, piled up in the corner like a marionette with its strings cut. He had no idea his moirail was even here. Karkat wasn’t about to say anything, in case the Chimeric wanted to say something first.

His alternate self still said nothing, but he reached out and pulled on the bars until they opened. Karkat bit his tongue to keep from screaming, _oh, it was unlocked the entire time!? The ENTIRE fucking time!?_ because he wasn’t going to shatter this somber moment with indignant outrage. The Chimeric stepped into the cell and knelt beside the Mournful, reaching out to take his hand, and then just hold it, gentle as a glass figurine.

“Murfle,” he said softly. “It’s time to go.”

The prisoner’s hand twitched and curled around the Chimeric’s, but he didn’t yet lift his head.

“I’m so sorry it took so long to find you.” Now the Chimeric reached out and stroked his cheek. “But I’m here now, Murfle, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The white eyes finally cracked open, aimed first at Karkat’s shoes. As the Mournful lifted his sorry head, he saw Karkat first, and looked puzzled. Karkat shifted his weight and jerked his head toward the other troll kneeling in the cell. The Mournful looked, saw the Chimeric’s ghostly face and small smile, and did a double take to Karkat, incredulous joy blooming on a face Karkat had only known to frown.

As much as Karkat still had his doubts about who was or wasn’t a good person, he couldn’t deny that the Mournful’s face made him feel like he had done something right.

Now aware of his moirail’s presence, the Mournful curled toward him, wrapping arms around his back and burying his face in his shoulder. Even in his happiness, he started to sob, “You’re here, you’re really here, I… I—”

The Chimeric started shooshing him, arms wrapped around to embrace him in turn. Karkat wanted to look away, knowing this was a copy of himself and one of his former abusers dropping into sloppy serendipity, but… yeah, it _was_ serendipity. Pale lovers seeking trust and comfort and finding it in each other, now reunited in the afterlife for an eternity together. This was the part of the romcoms that made Karkat cry, so he just focused on keeping his eyes dry as he watched.

The ancestors seemed to promptly forget Karkat was there. The Mournful refused to let go of the Chimeric, but the lethargic sorrow was draining out of him. He found the strength to kneel, then stand, and then lift the Chimeric into the air. The geography of the detainment cell crumbled to allow this, like the rock and stone of his prison had never existed in the first place. Under a balmy lavender sky, the Mournful’s rags melted into proper clothes, and Karkat saw triangles of white and gray makeup on his face, a pattern like the jaws of a dragon and a lion. With the same movement, the Chimeric’s scarlet shirt lost it stains, restored to a pristine and powerful red.  Eventually, the Mirthful—he could only be called Mirthful now—set his moirail down, and turned back to acknowledge Karkat, a gratitude too deep to name on his painted visage.

But then something smacked Karkat’s face.

He thrashed and jumped awake, blinking at the dark walls of the meteor made less so by Kanaya’s gorgeously indulgent ‘slumber party’ decor. He looked to his side and realized Dave had rolled over in his sleep and in the process, whacked Karkat’s face with his arm. And even though Karkat was now awake, Dave stayed determinedly asleep, sprawled as he was in the heap of pillows constituting a massive communal respite cushion.

Everyone else was still asleep, too. Rose and Kanaya had curled against each other in symmetrical lumps, like the two halves of a heart, the very definition of ‘sickeningly adorable.’ Terezi had started to burrow herself into the pillows and was hugging one close to her like a wiggler’s comfort object. Vriska snored, something she would probably be horrified to learn when awake, but it made Karkat smile a little to see that even pathologically competitive types had their uncool moments. And then his gaze fell back on Dave.

 _These people want to make the universe safe. They want me to be safe._ He reached down and brushed some of Dave’s hair away from his forehead. _I want them to be safe, too._

And, virtue or not, that fit his definition of loyalty.

He had no idea when they were all going to wake up, but he had a feeling he didn’t want them to wake yet. They’d ask about the reunion, and Karkat would have to make some sort of statement about his opinions and what he fucking learned that day. So for now, he snuggled back down into the pillows, nestled close to Dave, and closed his eyes. He’d take some time, just for now, to enjoy this. He had more than fucking earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it’s overrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
> 
> I’ve just spewed about 550,000 total words your direction - I don’t know if I have any more that I can use to express to every single reader, THANK YOU. Thank you so much for your support and patience and comments and kudoses and just everything. This took two years and nine months to complete and it boggles my mind how much has happened between the start and finish of this piece. This is easily the largest piece of fiction I’ve ever created. It's been a huge part of my life for so long and it’s kind of weird to think that I WON’T be working on this anymore. It’s bittersweet. :)
> 
> I need to give ten thousand specific thank-yous to my beta reader, MostlyHarmless, who made sure my ramblings were grammatically intelligible (she hasn’t edited this Author’s Note so all sentence fragments are my fault). She’s the reason this fic is polished and beautiful and has actual Japanese in it and she’s gone above and beyond for my update schedule in ways that touch my heart. On more than one occasion I re-wrote entire scenes because she knew I could do better. Basically if you love this fic, you love MostlyHarmless too. She’s a huge reason it made it to completion in the first place.
> 
> And I want to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with this so far. Sometimes things got hard as I saw regular commenters drop off, but basically anyone who ever left words, you have my undying love. I read and re-read these comments any time I need a little boost and it’s been hugely motivating. There’s also been a lot of times when I really regretted being an Aloof Distant Author who didn’t joke around with people in the comments but given the way this unfolded I wanted to make sure I got this all done without spoilers. 
> 
> So as a tradition at the end of each fic, I’ll talk back in comments! There’s so much I’ve wanted to talk about, from narrative choices to favorite parts to nonsense jokes to a few deleted scenes. Even in a fic huge as this, there are things I intended to include that didn’t fit, or just theories and headcanons relevant to this fic that informed my choices. Even if you don't have anything to say, leave a comment and I will give you an Ann Perkins compliment like one of these: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/14-leslie-knope-compliments-ann-perkins-life
> 
> And I would absolutely love feedback on this project as well! I’m very proud of it, but it’s not perfect, and my craft as a writer is continually a work in progress. I’ve made reference to this before, but the scale and success of this story is one of the reasons I feel empowered to write large-scale original fiction. (120,000 words and counting…) It feels like an act of hubris, to try and love something that I’m making as much as I love Homestuck, but I also think this is what everyone means when they say ‘it’s scary to follow your dreams.’ So I’m looking for any feedback you can give about this story to help me follow my dreams harder.
> 
> Happy motherfucking Wednesday everyone, and I hope you enjoyed The Blood-Stained Knight of Beforus!


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